


Unknown Seeds - A Storm of Change

by FollowerOfAnhamirak



Category: 13 reasons why - Fandom, Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bisexuality, Brotherhood, Depression, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Harm, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FollowerOfAnhamirak/pseuds/FollowerOfAnhamirak
Summary: Pieces of Work and Seeds exist that have long since been forgotten and lost to time. Maybe a storm will change that.Three hundred years ago the world changed at Salem by Sarah Alder's hand. Now it will change again.Despite what one might think, running away was a rather normal human reaction. People did it all the time. They ran away from confrontations, from conversations, from feelings. Clay did as much when he left for college. Too many ghosts remained behind at Evergreen for him to stay. Still, perhaps disappearing away to a new world was a bit much. Not that he planned it that way though.Starts before Motherland and after the 13 Reasons Why series finale.
Relationships: Clay Jensen & Abigail Bellweather, Clay Jensen & Byron, Clay Jensen & Raelle Collar, Clay Jensen & Tally Craven, Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither 13 Reasons Why or Motherland: Fort Salem or it's characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither 13 Reasons Why and Motherland: Fort Salem

_"It's a beautiful night."_ Khalida thought as she hugged her coat around herself. Today had been a worrying day, and the nighttime stroll did much to soothe her frayed nerves. Turning away the latest representative from the Russian military had been unnerving, to say the least. The woman had persisted for hours, offering all kinds of promises in exchange for their Seeds.

They had humored her at first. After all, it would not be wise to simply dismiss the emissary of such a powerful military. However, sometime after the first three hours, they had had to be rather direct. Both her and the elders had told the woman in no uncertain terms that their songs were not for sale. She had acquiesced and left shortly after that, but Khalida was under no illusions that this would be the last they would hear from the Russian military or those of the other nations. 

As she contemplated what the future held Khalida's eyes narrowed as the wind picked up. There was something strange in the sound it carried. Straining to hear she picked out the faintest of melodies it carried. They were soft and barely there, but ancient and full of meaning. There was Work being done, and a powerful one at that, yet nothing was menacing about it.

Searching her memory, trying to identify the Seeds being used, Khalida recognized only a few, and the composition was one with no roots in any work she knew. These were not the songs of the earth or those of the storms. Still, for all the unfamiliarity surrounding the melody, something was tugging at her mind, begging her to remember something. It was like the answer was there, in front of her, but tantalizing out of reach.

Shaking her head Khalida turned and headed back to the others. Whatever the Work was, if it meant them any harm they would all find out soon enough. She would alert the others to be ready if anything happened. Little did she know, on the other side of the world, General Sarah Alder sensed the same Work being done while she sat in her office, stirring her from her work just as it vanished.

  
  



	2. Chapter 1: A Strange New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer Applies

Opening his eyes the first thing Clay Jensen noticed was the burning sensation in his throat, and briefly, he wondered if he had been drinking acid. The next thing he registered was the feeling of cold, damp stone and the icy sting of snow against his back and hands. Against the protest from his back, his hand quickly reached to clutch his throat; his first mistake. As soon as he touched it Clay jerked his hand back, bleary eyes jerked wide open to reveal a cloudy gray sky. It felt as if somebody had taken a metal sponge to the outside and inside of his throat with a vengeance; the area left too tender to touch without it feeling like it would bleed with a single touch. Groaning, he rubbed his back, trying to alleviate some of the soreness, ignoring the wet feeling of his clothes. He'd be lucky if he didn't catch a cold. Wet clothes and winter months were not exactly conducive to proper health.

Once the pain abated somewhat Clay suddenly became anxious as he took note of his surroundings. _"Where the hell am I?"_ Clay thought to himself as the fog in his head began to clear. This wasn't anywhere near his house, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember walking towards the center of town. He couldn't remember anything from the last 24 hours. Breath hitching Clay tried to recall any memory of what might have happened, the feeling of dread building inside. Drawing up blank he looked around, looking for anything that would jog his memory. _"What the hell is going on."_

Surrounding him were graffitied walls with a dumpster filled to the brim with trash to his left, letting him know he was in some sort of alley. Squinting his eyes Clay saw the sun up ahead, telling him it was much later in the evening than he remembered. Rubbing his eyes Clay let out a nervous sigh as he tried to control his breathing. He desperately hoped he hadn't been gone too long. His mom and dad would be freaking out by now. Wincing, Clay slowly lifted himself and leaned against the alley walls, and began to carefully make his way forward. He still couldn't exactly remember what had happened but if his head and ribs were any indication he would be paying for it the next couple of days. That was if his mom and dad didn't behead him first. The two had been bad enough before, but after losing Justin…..well...he'd be fortunate to make it back to Brown without hearing loss and a tracking chip embedded in his skin.

Stepping out of the alley into the street Clay froze as he took in the sight. He was still trying to make sense of what had happened but it was clear enough he wasn't in Evergreen anymore. The street was lined with storefronts and buildings he didn't recognize, possessing a decidedly more urban look than any place in Evergreen that he could remember. Around him were a few people casually walking around dressed in winter clothes, a few even carrying shopping bags.

Panic taking over, Clay quickly rummaged his pockets searching for his phone. After a few tries, he fished it out of his pocket and felt his heart drop as he looked at the screen. From the looks of it, it seemed as if somebody had taken a hammer to the screen, leaving behind a spider web of fractures and oddly angled phone screen shards. It'd be a miracle if he could even turn the thing on, if there was any charge in it left, that was. Feeling his pulse rising and heart thumping against his chest Clay quickly shoved the phone back into his pocket and leaned back against the wall for support.

_"What the fucked happened to me."_ Clay thought furiously, the anxiety overflowing and drowning out his awareness until all he could notice was himself panting, making the lingering pain in his throat feel even worse than it already was. _"I just went jogging, what the hell happened?"_ Clay thought to himself as his breaths became more rapid and shallow. That was it. That was all he remembered; he had gone jogging to clear his head and then everything became blank. He certainly did not remember hopping on a bus to the city. Maybe he'd been mugged and dropped off after they'd taken his stuff, but that didn't make sense. He still had his wallet, wouldn't robbers have taken it if he'd been mugged?

Wait did he still have his wallet? Heartbeat rising even higher than he had ever dreamed of Clay quickly shoved his hands again back into his pockets and felt around, reaching deep until he found his wallet. Quickly pulling it out Clay opened it and found his license and money still there. Seeing them Clay almost sobbed in relief. If somebody had taken his wallet he'd be stuck here in wherever the hell he was with no way to get home, unless he found somebody who would lend them their phone so he could call his parents. However, that still left the question of what the hell had happened to him.

After a few moments of what felt like an eternity, it suddenly struck Clay that he was stranded in the middle of a strange city. All of a sudden his throat became uncomfortably tight. What if he was too far away or what if there wasn't any way to reach his parents? Slowly, those thoughts and many others like it zoomed through his mind, creating desperate, vivid images of what could happen. Engrossed in his mind Clay couldn't feel as his muscles began to tighten and his blood turned cold. Minutes passed and he was left taking quiet desperate breaths.

"Hey kid, are you alright?" A concerned voice said, a strange weight settling on his shoulder.

Registering the sound and touch Clay quickly turned to see a couple, an Asian man standing beside him with a pale-skinned, black-haired woman next to him, the both of them dressed in heavy coats and looking at him with concern. Hearing them he managed to wrench back a shred of self-possession, allowing his breathing to slow down slightly, leaving Clay to notice he'd been only seconds away from a full-blown panic attack in the middle of a public place. Realizing this Clay remembered the breathing and calming exercises Dr. Elman had taught him. Steadying himself Clay took a deep breath, and called forth the image of a giant, glowing stop sign, allowing himself to take it in, and then slowly exhaled. Repeating the process a couple of times his breathing began to even out and the rush of blood began to warm his body, loosening his stiff muscles. Once he was no longer in the throes of panic and his heartbeat had slowed down Clay turned to face the couple and blushed as he realized he had just freaked out in the middle of the street.

"I-I'm fine." Clay stammered and winced, stunned at how raspy and forced his voice came out. The pain in his throat had begun to fade but it still hurt, every breath feeling as if it had been forced through pins. To be honest he wasn't sure if he should be talking but it was better to talk and try and figure where he was. Hopefully, it would only take a few questions.

The couple exchanged dubious glances, and the man pressed, his tone disbelieving, "Are you sure? I have a nephew with pretty bad anxiety and it looked like you were having a panic attack." 

Clay shook his head. He could only imagine how he must have looked like, and he honestly doubted they believed him, but he didn't want to draw any more attention to himself. If the looks he saw from a few of the people walking around them were any indication, he had made quite a scene. "Yeah, I guess I was sort of freaking out," Clay admitted, choosing instead to focus on trying to seem more composed than he was, rather than lying. 

Awareness slowly returning Clay shivered as he felt the air around him become colder. Looking over their shoulders Clay saw the sun begin to dip into the horizon. It was going to be night soon and he needed to call his parents so they could pick him up. Remembering his lack of phone Clay turned his attention back to the couple. "Ye-yeah. I was looking for a payphone. I got lost and my phone broke." 

"Oh, there's a payphone just around the corner." Supplied the woman with a smile, looking a bit more at ease. "You know, if you are lost and just need directions you could just tell us where you were headed and maybe we could help?" The woman suggested. "My name is Nia and this is my boyfriend Jake. Sorry, we didn't introduce ourselves." The newly introduced Nia said. Besides her Jake nodded, stretching his hand over to greet him. Taking his hand Clay sighed in relief. At least he could now get some help, figure out where he was, and call home.

"I don't have any idea where I am." Clay explained, "Could you tell me where I am? I'm from Evergreen and I have no clue where it is related to here." Hopefully, he would have some idea of where he was once they told him where he was. From there he could find a phone and find some way to get back to Evergreen soon. With any luck, he hadn't ended up too far from home.

Jake gave him a confused look, "Wow. I thought you were just from a different part of the city looking for a street or a building somewhere, not that you were from a different town. Where is Evergreen from Bloomington?"

Jake's answer floored him. "Bloomington?" Clay said faintly, the disbelief clear in his voice. 

The concerned look returned to both Nia and Jake's faces. "Yes. Bloomington, Wisconsin." Added Nia tentatively, giving him a look one would give a lost puppy.

As his mind processed the information Clay could swear he felt a part of his brain melt. At worst he would have expected Nia and Jake to say Oakland because that at least would have made some sense. Bloomington, Winsconsin on the other hand, that was far beyond the comprehension of his rational- though admittedly, fucked up- mind. Scrambling through his memory Clay was fairly certain he left his house at around one in the afternoon. From the best, he could make it out it was closer to 5 or 6 right now in the middle of Bloomington fucking Wisconsin. Oakland alone would have taken an hour and a half with heavy traffic. Bloomington, Winsconsin would certainly have taken far longer, even with his limited knowledge of geography. To get here from Evergreen even by plane would still have taken too long. Clay desperately wished someone would give him an explanation for the current physical impossibility that had become his life.

Remembering he was still facing two other people Clay quickly responded. "I guess I never really paid much attention to that. I sort of just ended up here." He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. How could he explain that he had somehow ended up halfway across the country without any clue as to how he'd gotten to Winsconsin without sounding crazy? Frankly, he wasn't even sure if he'd been kidnapped or robbed given that he just woke up in a random alley with all his stuff. For all he knew he might have somehow hitchhiked cross country drunk or high. Not that any of those scenarios accounted for how he essentially teleported several hundreds of miles in just a few hours. It was better just to get to that payphone and call his parents. If all went well, he'd be on a plane home soon. 

"I think I'll just head over the payphone and somebody to pick me up," Clay told Jake and Nia, trying to sound as calm and sensible as he could. "It's getting late and I should be getting home by now." 

The two exchanged a couple more glances. Tentatively, Jake said, "Are you sure?"

Clay nodded perhaps a little too vigorously. "Yeah, yeah. Positive." 

"Well, I'm glad we could be of help." Nia said, smiling kindly, "I hope you can get home safe." 

"Same." Added Jake. 

"Thank you." Clay quickly said, nodding. Taking their cue, Jake and Nia gave him one last look before they resumed walking and began heading down the street, leaving him alone in the street once again. Looking around Clay saw that the street was more or less empty now, with only a few people milling around. Turning around Clay began walking towards the direction Nia had pointed towards, quickly spotting the payphone. As he walked Clay took the chance to look around. It was a typical urban area, filled with office buildings and stores with wide windows showing their merchandise, the people dressed in jackets, hats, and long-sleeved shirts to stave off the January chill as they trudged through half-melted snow. Occasionally, he met eyes with a few passers-by who gave him strange looks, making him walk faster.

Reaching the payphone Clay picked up the phone and searched his pocket for some loose change, taking out two quarters and quickly dialed his dad's cell phone number; given his dad's nature, he probably wouldn't be in as much a mood to yell as much as his mom would be. Clay waited anxiously as the phone rang three times, each ring stretching for what seemed like an hour. Digging his nails into his palms he pressed them, feeling the indents they left behind. It was a useful distraction method, the discomfort making sure his mind didn't wander too far.

**"The number you dialed does not exist or this service has not been activated when making a call."**

Hearing the words Clay felt his heart drop. Looking at the phone in his hand he quickly canceled the call and slipped two more quarters in, this time paying precise attention to the number he dialed; his mother’s cellphone. He clutched the phone desperately and tried the best he could to keep his breathing leveled. If he weren't so distressed he'd feel proud at his newly found self-control.

**"The number you dialed does not exist or this service has not been activated when making a call."**

Clay was certain the numbers he’d dialed were correct. After Bryce's murder investigation he'd had to memorize them so his parents could pick him up because he'd been grounded without driving privileges for a month. Checking his pocket to see if had any more quarters Clay pulled out two pennies and nickel and frowned. Pulling out his wallet Clay took out all the cash he had and counted it. Fifty dollars and seven cents. If he wanted to try and make another phone call he'd need change. 

Pocketing the change Clay felt his stomach growl. He hadn't eaten anything since the morning. Looking at the sky Clay wondered what he should do. There was no way to tell how long he'd be stuck in Wisconsin. Should he go ahead and try to find some food? Or save his money and find a place where he could get the chance to make another call? 

_"I need to be smart about this,"_ reasoned Clay, pulling his jacket closer as the wind blew, _"I have fifty bucks and am stuck in Wisconsin. I could probably get something to eat and still have enough left over to make another call, but what if I can't remember the numbers and I just waste money? And what if I stayed the night? I don't know anybody in Wisconsin and I don't think I have enough money for a motel. If there's any nearby that is? Fuck! I don't even know if I'll be able to get back."_

And that was a scary thought wasn't it? What if he couldn't find a way to go home? Fuck, how the hell would he even survive in Wisconsin? His phone was broken, there was nobody he knew, being that he was stranded halfway across the goddamned country, and he only had fifty dollars and an out of state license. How the hell did jogging in Evergreen did end up with him in Wisconsin.

Feeling his eyes begin to water and his breathing becoming faster Clay took a few more deep breaths and tried to calm down.

_"Ok, calm down, it's the 21st century. We have that internet and phones."_ Clay reassured himself, _" I just need to find a phone and try and call mom and dad or the police. I just need a phone that doesn't eat up my money."_

Now the problem was just where he would find a place he could make a call from for free, but where that would be he didn't know? How would he survive if he did end up stranded in a strange city? Given his luck, he'd be lucky to make it a day without help. Lifting his hand he began to chew his nails.

_"Justin managed to survive on the streets for months didn't he."_ Clay's mind reminded him. He wasn't Justin though. Justin was the resourceful, street smart one while he was just the sheltered comic book nerd. He could solve calculus problems and make robots but what good did that do him right now? 

_"You don't need to be Justin."_ The reasonable part of Clay's mind said, _"You just need to think as he would."_ That was something he could do. Clearing his mind Clay thought of everything that Justin had told him about the time he had lived on the streets, which wasn't a lot though. Justin had never liked to talk about that, but now and then he would let something slip, like how he would join up with other homeless teenagers to stay safe or go to soup kitchens for food.

_"Or how he would spend the day in the public library when he didn't want to walk around and wanted to rest or use the computers so he wouldn't go crazy."_ Clay's mind helpfully supplied, making him almost cry with relief. All he needed to do was find a library and he could use the computers to send an email or ask if he could use their phones to call his parents or the police. It wasn't much of a plan given he didn't so much as know which way east was from north, but it was something.

Feeling relieved, Clay thought back to his original conundrum. Whatever else happened he could probably get some food and still have enough to get on a bus going to the nearest public library, though first, he would have to find a bus stop. He could probably ask for directions without too much trouble. After all Nia and Jake had been pretty helpful. Looking back on it he should have probably asked them if he could have used their phone to make a call. Or probably not given how picky some people could be about their phones. Still, it wouldn't have hurt to try. Hindsight really was a bitch. Still, maybe the people in Bloomington were friendly? 

_"Still I could probably go to a cafe or diner, buy something and then ask them for directions. That way they'll probably tell me just to be polite."_ Clay decided, _"I can get some water and worry about food after I send a message. Now I just have to ask somebody if there's a grocery store or cafe around here."_

Mind made up and feeling more confident than he had before Clay looked around the street hoping to find somebody he could ask for directions to someplace to eat. The street was mostly empty, but there were still some people about. Looking for somebody approachable he spotted a guy that looked only a bit older than him walking on the opposite side of the street from where he was and quickly headed towards him. Tapping his shoulder Clay watched as the guy turned around. He was tall and lanky with dark hair and glasses, looking a little like a hipster with a short beard and retro glasses. Fortunately, he looked more surprised than annoyed at being bothered by a stranger.

"Hey sorry to bother you," Clay said, hoping he sounded harmless and not as a possible mugger, "but I'm sort of new here and was looking for a place to eat." 

"No problem man." The hipster said, giving him a friendly smile, "There is a diner three blocks from here that serves pretty good Mexican food. You just have to head back from where I was coming from, take a right and then two lefts and cross the street from there and you'll see it." 

"Thanks." Clay said gratefully. The man simply nodded and said. " No problem dude." Without ado, the man continued walking and Clay began walking down the street where the man had come from. Thankfully there was nothing too drastically different in terms of streets between Evergreen and Bloomington. The man's directions proved easy to follow and after walking for about fifteen minutes he found the diner he had told him about. The diner was a squat creamed colored building that fit in with every other building called **Rosita's Cantina.** Sighing in relief he crossed the street and entered it. As soon as he rushed through the door Clay shivered in relief, feeling the difference between the warm indoors and the brisk wind outside. Rubbing some warmth back into his hands Clay looked around the diner. 

The diner was decorated in a Mexican style with brick and adobe walls lined with booths, a few tables, and a bar with several bottles and a menu hanging there in an attempt to make it look like an actual cantina. Looking around he saw the place half-filled with people of all ages, a few waiters and waitresses milling around. Suddenly feeling awkward Clay headed towards the bar where three men and a woman were sitting down eating as they watched the news on a mounted TV and took a seat there. Immediately a preppy redhead wearing an apron approached. 

"Hello, welcome to Rosita's Cantina, my name Izzy, what can I get you?" The waitress said, her cheery voice catching him off guard. Startled, Clay leaned back and stammered. "H-Hi. Could I get medium hazelnut cappuccino?" It was one of the cheaper things on the menu and though he originally decided to get just water, given the day he had a cup of coffee could be excused.

"Sure, I'll get that to you in a second," Izzy said, jotting down the order on a notepad before heading down to the coffee machine, leaving Clay to sit awkwardly by himself at the bar. Self-consciously, Clay looked around, looking enviously as the man next to him sipped on a bowl of copper-colored stew with vegetables. His mouth watered at the sight and Clay wanted to call Izzy over and order what the man was eating for himself but he refrained. Things were still too uncertain and he needed what little money he had in case he needed it.

"Here you go. One medium hazelnut cappuccino. Enjoy." Izzy said as she set the coffee down in front of him. "Careful. It's hot." She added.

"Thanks." Clay said gratefully, sliding the cup over towards himself. Picking it up he lifted it to his face and inhaled the sweet scent of hazelnut. Instantly he felt some of the tension he had in his shoulders. Just smelling coffee melted away some of the stress he was feeling.

"Wow. You look like you could be in one of those advertisements for the health benefits of coffee." Izzy laughed.

"Is it that bad?" Clay asked, blushing. "What can I say? I needed it. I haven't eaten anything all day." 

"Why don't you order something to eat," Izzy suggested.

Clay shook his head, resisting the temptation. "No, I'm okay." 

"Suit yourself." Izzy shrugged, leaving him with his coffee.

Lifting the cup to his lips Clay took a small sip, relishing in the taste; it helped that the coffee was good. Conscious of the fact this was probably the only thing he'd be eating today Clay made sure to nurse his coffee, taking small sips and waiting in between each sip. Resting his arms on the bar he reminded himself to ask Izzy if there was a public library he could go to. Still, despite the urge to just gulp the coffee and find a way to head home he wasn't eager to go out into the cold again quite yet. Allowing himself to relax a bit, Clay turned to the TV, curious to see what was news in Wisconsin.

**"...and with the upcoming Conscription Day here are some words from General Sarah Alder."**

Clay furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at the TV. What the hell was Conscription Day? Was it some sort of local holiday? And who was Sarah Alder? Last he knew there wasn't a female military general in the U.S. military? Clay sat down with his coffee and stared at the news intently. The scene on the TV changed to show a middle-aged woman with harsh hawk-like features in dress uniform, several medals shining on her left. Behind her stood eight elderly women in grey uniforms flanking her like bodyguards.

**"My fellow Americans, it is with great pleasure that I greet you in preparation for the upcoming Conscription Day. We live in dark times, threatened by the Spree, and it is now more than ever that we need more witches to join our ranks so that our great nation might be defended. I call now to you my brethren and ask you to answer the call so that you might protect your friends and family. When the day comes, say the words and come to Fort Salem and join us so we might together bring peace to these troubled times."**

The TV soon cut back to the news anchors, a pretty thirty-something blonde woman. Meanwhile, Clay’s brain was doing backflips. Was this some kind of joke? Clay looked around to see how others were reacting. Nobody was laughing, and one or two people were even looking proud or alert. A military of witches? Thinking about it all that came up was a bunch of wrinkly hunched-back ladies leaning over a cauldron dress in military fatigues. It was ridiculous, magic and witches weren't real. Clay was about to call Izzy over and ask what channel it was when the sound hit him 

It was ethereal, the sound piercing his mind and making him feel as if it was coursing through his body like quicksilver, heightening his senses. It was like waking up from a lucid dream he hadn't been aware of, reality shifting to become clearer and richer. Strangest of all though, was how familiar it was, like a lullaby from his childhood. There were no words, only sound and tone, and vibrations and it was beautiful and terrible, leaving him fighting the urge to flee and cry. Before his mind flew images of wind and rain and lightning and then there was nothing.

* * *

_"Clay this has to stop!"_

_He was in the living room with his mother yelling at him, her face flushed. Next to her was his father wearing slacks and a grey sweater, his face equally furious. His parents had barged into his old bedroom, angry with him because for the fourth time this week he'd left and come home late without calling them. Jess had invited him and a couple of friends to a party and after a few drinks, he'd completely lost track of time._

_"Clay I know you're an adult now, and through your first semester of college, but as long you're living with us you have to check-in and let us know where you are!" His mother yelled, practically seething at this point._

_"And here I thought being an adult meant I was free to do what I wanted." He said sarcastically, mutinous._

_"Clay, don’t talk that way to your mother." Snapped his father, his normally easygoing nature now gone._

_"Jesus. You guys are blowing this way out of proportion." He shot back. It was easy to tell he was beyond angry now._

_"You got drunk and passed out at your friend’s house all night without letting us know." His mother snapped, "How is that acting like an adult!? Ever since Justin died you've been reckless and distant and acting out. "_

_"She's right." His dad added, his face softening, "Kid, we’re just worried about you. After everything that's happened this year with the vandalism and the riot and Justin's death you've become a completely different person and it's scary."_

_Anger fading his mother nodded. "Your dad's right. We just want you to deal with this healthily."_

_As the scene played out he could see that moment his mother finished speaking his was beyond done and apoplectic. He was watched as his eyes narrowed and turned into a sneer, letting out an incredulous laugh._

_"You're kidding right. Who are you guys to talk to me about healthily dealing with this? I'm not the one spending nights in her office, drowning herself in work. I'm not pushing everybody into stupid family activities and forcing us to eat and talk like the Brady's." He shot back, his every word dripping with venom, "I'm not the one acting like Justin didn't die."_

_"That's enough!" His father shouted, eyes flashing. His mother meanwhile looked like she wanted to cry._

_"What? Isn't that what's happening." He said bitterly. Turning around he went to the door and yanked it open, rushing outside, ignoring his parent’s yelling and the crack of lightning above the stormy clouds and fast wind._

* * *

  
  


"Hey. Are you alright?" A voice said, yanking him out of his thoughts. Blinking rapidly Clay saw Izzy standing in front of him. Shaking his head Clay saw he was clutching his coffee so hard he was surprised he hadn't broken it. Lifting his head up he saw Izzy looking at him with concern. Seriously at this point wondered how often he'd be asked that question throughout the rest of the day. At this point he should probably consider printing cards saying "I'm fine" in bold letters whenever somebody asked him that question. 

"I-ah-uh." Clay stammered, trying to process what just happened. Quickly looking back to the TV he saw footage of twisters tearing apart the ground. "Hey what's that?" He said quickly, hoping to change the subject. 

Izzy frowned and looked at the TV. "That's just some old war footage. They like to show it whenever Conscription Day comes up. I guess it's to remind us all about the sacrifices the witches make."

Seeing no sign of joke Clay tried to sound as casual as possible as he asked his next question. "So the witch army?"

Izzy gave him a weird look. "Are you from another country or something like that?"

Desperately wanting to get answers Clay nodded and played along. "Yeah, something like that?"

"I thought everybody knew about that," Izzy remarked, "since pretty much all the major countries have them."

"Yeah! I mean we have them where I come from, but I wanted to know about the American army." Clay covered, a sinking feeling coming over him as he was starting to get an idea of what had happened to him.

Still looking a bit put off Izzy answered. "That makes sense. I guess it would be interesting if you were a foreigner. Well, the witches have been pretty much our de facto military since the 1700s, founded by General Sarah Alder after the signing of the Salem Accord with the Massachusetts Bay Militia, since before the U.S. existed and which continues to exist because of them. We were the first witch military in the world and every Conscription Day witches are drafted to serve, which is in a couple of weeks. That's pretty much all I know since I don't really follow history. That's what you're asking about though, right?" 

Clay nodded numbly and lifted his coffee and took a deep drink. He probably shouldn't, given he was stranded but he didn't care right now. Whatever Wisconsin this was, it wasn't his. He definitely wasn't in Kansas.


	3. Chapter 2: Research and Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer Applies
> 
> Constructive Criticism Welcome!

Clay had known something was wrong the moment his calls had failed to go through. He could have simply gotten the numbers wrong or maybe the payphone was malfunctioning, but since waking up in the alley something had felt wrong, fundamentally so. Watching the TV newscast and talking with Izzy had just confirmed his suspicions, he just hadn’t expected things to be this wrong. There was no reason for her lie, and though he might be wrong, Clay doubted she was crazy or simple. She had answered his question with the same measure one might state that July 4th was Independence Day or that the White House was in Washington. Wherever he was, it wasn’t his world. His world didn’t have witches, or the Salem Accord, or whatever the hell else it had. Straining to process the reality of his situation Clay almost forgot he was still speaking with Izzy.

“Yeah, that’s sort of what I was asking.” Clay replied calmly, ignoring the slight trembling in his hands. “I’m here as an exchange student and I'm working on a history project.” Clay surprised himself with the lie. It sounded like just the right thing that would cover for his ignorance. Maybe his parents were right to doubt his honesty. After everything that had happened over the last couple of years, he had gotten pretty good at lying.

Izzy smiled as if a sudden realization had just dawned on her. “Oh, that explains it then, I was wondering where your accent was from. You don’t look like you're from around here. Anyway, that sounds fun, traveling abroad for studies. I wish I could do that. Where are you from?”

“I have an accent?” Clay thought to himself as he racked his brain for a moment. What answer would cause the least amount of trouble? Taking a chance Clay said the first answer that came to mind, “Canada.” He wasn’t sure what his accent sounded like but Canada was a safe enough lie to sell. It was a big country and he seriously doubted he could have passed for Australian or European.

At his answer, Izzy’s smile dropped a little before she answered. “That’s cool. I was sort of hoping you were from Europe or something.” Izzy swiftly froze as she realized how that sounded, “Not that there's anything wrong with Canada!"

Clay let out a nervous laugh. “No, don't worry about it. I guess Canada doesn’t sound quite as exciting when your state borders it.” Sensing it was better to change the subject Clay asked. “Hey, so I was looking for a library today but I couldn’t find any. Would you happen to know where I could find one?” 

“There’s a public library on Jefferson street, about two miles and a half from here.” Izzy answered genially, “It’s closed right now, but it opens again tomorrow at 9 AM.”

Clay’s heart sank as he heard Izzy’s answer. With the library closed, he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. An what was he going to do? There wasn’t anywhere he could go to spend the night. The plan to call his parents was shot given that he was in a different world. The police were also out of the question. Given his previous encounters with them, Clay doubted they would take kindly to a teenage boy claiming he was from another world. At best they'd lock him up in a mental hospital, and then he would have no chance to find a way home. Besides, with nobody to contact they'd be of little help otherwise.

He could probably look for a motel to spend the night, but how long would that last? With less than fifty bucks, and unless he wanted to forgo food, he probably couldn’t afford to spend more than a night or two. What was he supposed to do after that? Instantly, the thought of sleeping in the streets hit him.

Shaking away the thought for the moment Clay decided to ask Izzy how he could get to the library. Even if he couldn’t call home he could still try to figure out exactly where he was in this strange new world. “So are there any buses headed towards the library tomorrow?”

“Yeah. If you head left down the street for a couple blocks and then cross the street you can catch a bus headed by the library at 10:30.” Izzy answered, turning her head as a new customer sat down at the bar, “Hey, sorry to cut this short but I have customers to tend to.” With those last words, Izzy left Clay with his half-full cup of coffee.

Clay stared at his coffee and wondered what his next move should be. Just a while ago he had thought that at best he’d be stranded here for only a few hours, or a day or two at most. Now he was looking at an uncertain future without an end and it took all he had to not just curl up and cry. He supposed he could still try and make a phone call and hope somebody picked up but doubted it. 

Turning around he saw the sun setting and the hint of the night showing above, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Glancing back to the other customers and Izzy, Clay realized he wasn’t sure how long the diner would stay open or how long he could stay without ordering food. Toying briefly with the idea of ordering food Clay dismissed the thought. Even though he hadn’t eaten all day he could still ignore the occasional hunger pangs easily enough for now. Tomorrow after he went to the library he could find something to eat and hopefully figure out what his next move would be. Sighing in resignation Clay took a small sip of coffee and hoped he could stretch it out for a while. 

After about ten minutes of sitting and sipping in silence, Clay noticed a small stain of dirt on his left hand. It wasn't anything too big to be bothered by but decided he might as well take advantage of having the opportunity to use the bathroom. Standing up Clay left his coffee and entered the restroom at the end of the restroom, finding it empty. Picking the sink in the middle he turned the tap and began rinsing his hands with soap from the dispenser. Peering at the mirror he saw his face staring back at him, pale and gaunt with bags under his eyes. Clay grimaced at his reflection and sighed as he finished washing his hands. Drying his hands Clay decided to check his pockets and take stock of what he had.

A few seconds of careful rummaging yielded, aside from his wallet and broken phone, his house keys, a pen, and a small notebook. Placing his hands against the edges of the sink Clay examined his paltry possessions. There was nothing that could be of immediate use for him. Aside from the money that was.

_“Well, not everything.”_ Clay thought as he looked at the silver bracelet on his wrist. It was a set of thin metal bands woven to form a single one that locked together at a broad clasp. On an impulse, he'd bought it for ninety dollars at an antique store while Christmas shopping. Something about the bracelet had simply caught his eye, and the next thing he knew he was handing the cashier the money for it. Maybe he could sell it for something? The owner had told him it was silver when he'd sold it to him. 

_"Maybe I should ask for water while I'm here."_ Clay thought, trying to think of an excuse to stay here longer.

* * *

By the time he finished his coffee and a free glass of water, a full hour and a half had passed, and given the occasional glances Izzy or another employee would send him, it was not appreciated. To be honest, Clay was surprised and maybe a little proud of himself for stretching out half a cup of coffee and a glass of water that long. Paying Izzy the two dollars and fifty cents he owed Clay stood up and walked out, and zipping up his jacket as he stepped out into the street. Already the sun had disappeared, replaced instead by stars and a full moon. 

Instantly, he clutched his sides as the cold night air hit. Logically, Clay knew that given how far north Wisconsin was the weather was bound to be colder than in California, but knowing it and feeling it were two different things. Lifting his hood Clay examined the street and wondered where he should go. The library was closed until tomorrow, and given what he’d asked Izzy before he left all the places he could stay were too expensive for him. Left with no choice Clay retraced his steps and found the alley where he had woken up. 

Unsure, Clay examined the alley critically. Feeling in the cold air around him he knew he couldn't stay here for the night. He'd freeze to death before he woke up in the morning. Gazing at the alley one last time Clay raised his shoulders and walked away. He desperately hoped he could find someplace to rest soon.

Wandering around Clay had no idea how long he'd been walking, though he made sure to take careful note of where he had come from. All around him he saw light going out from the windows facing the streets, leaving the lamp posts as the only source of light. Likewise, the people on the street followed, clearing out until there were only one or two people still walking around. Soon even the traffic slowed down to a trickle. 

With every passing minute, Clay became more and more aware of the dark pressing against him. The night had never bothered him much before but after everything that had happened to him today, he couldn't help but feel vulnerable. Feet starting to ache and eyes starting to droop with exhaustion, a part of him wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest, but he was very much aware it was winter in January in Wisconsin. At the moment walking was the only way to stay somewhat warm and stave of the cold, and until he found shelter he'd have to power through the growing exhaustion.

Walking through Bloomington Clay noticed the building and streets become grimier and more worn down. Likewise, the few people he saw walking around seemed more guarded and rougher than those near the alley he'd landed by. Occasionally he'd feel a few of those people staring at him. Anxiety rising, Clay picked up his pace and headed to the next street corner, taking a right and entering an empty street. Stopping to catch his breath he saw a set of doorsteps lit by a lamp post. Seeing the chance to stop for a bit Clay hurried and let out a deep breath as he sat down.

Savoring the chance to rest, Clay pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed them for warmth. "What the hell am I even doing?" Clay muttered to himself. And that was the matter, wasn't it? What exactly was he doing? Sure he had a plan to head to the library (if he survived the night) but what about now? Right now he was just walking around a strange city without a destination in mind. Unless he found a place to rest he'd be braving the cold January night with minimal protection. Hell, with his luck he'd probably get mugged and then lose what little money he had.

"How the hell did Justin manage this?” Clay whispered, hugging his sides harder in a failed attempt to protect himself from the cold. The wind was picking up and it didn’t seem like it would let up anytime soon. Shivering, Clay desperately looked around for anything that could serve as shelter. The street around him was empty, the foot traffic having already dissipated to nothing. All there was were empty lots and dark buildings. 

“Come on there has to be something,” Clay said as he stood up to get a better view of his surroundings. Finding nothing in his immediate vicinity he began walking down the street to see if he could find anything. Reaching the end of the street Clay began to lose hope. He could probably keep walking but every step he took led him further and further away from where he had landed and the diner and despite his confidence in his memory, he couldn’t be sure that he’d be able to find the way back or that he’d be safe at all.

Clay continued walking for a few more minutes when he spotted it. Just up ahead was an abandoned building, the windows cracked and the doorsteps littered with waste. Just seeing the building every part of him wanted to rush over and see if he could find a way inside but he hesitated. Technically speaking it’d be breaking and entering, or squatting, if he hunkered down for the night here, and dealing with the police was something he definitely didn’t want to do, especially since this wasn’t his world. Biting his lip Clay considered his options, but after a few moments, he made up his mind and headed towards the building. Better to deal with the police than freeze to death in the middle of the street.

Standing in front of the main door he grabbed and the doorknob and tried to twist it open only to find it locked firmly. Frowning, Clay looked at the window and debated whether or not to smash the window. He could probably do it if he wrapped his hand with his jacket, but he ran the risk of catching somebody’s attention with the noise. Letting out a sigh he stepped back and glanced at the alley next to it. Maybe there was a side door or something. 

The alley next to the building was exactly like the one he landed in, minus the dumpster. Stepping into it Clay examined the alley wall but found no door, just a few windows too high up for him to reach. Convinced there had to be something he examined every inch of the wall critically and soon spotted a half-broken, ground-level window about a foot in length at the base of the building. Leaning down Clay twisted his head and peered inside, seeing a pile of boxes and furniture littering what appeared to be a basement. 

The window was just big enough for him to wiggle in. As it was the thing was half broken and hidden in the alley so nobody would notice what he was about to do, and if he was right, the sound would be too muffled to cause a ruckus. Taking off his jacket, his skin rippling as it took the brunt of the cold, Clay wrapped it around his right fist and drew back his arm. Taking a deep breath he hit the glass, shattering it into a dozen pieces. After carefully clearing away the glass he laid down on the ground, grimacing at the grime, and pushed his leg through the opening slowly, shifting his body to fit inside. It was a tight fit and he was pretty sure a few pieces of leftover glass were digging in through his t-shirt, but eventually he made it through and soon found himself surrounded by dust, cobwebs, boxes, and broken objects. 

Shaking out his jacket and putting it back on Clay examined the room around and began walking around, occasionally rifling through a few of the boxes. It was a fairly large basement and given the number of boxes and objects it must have served as storage for the building. Weaving his way around the maze of boxes and shelves Clay found a staircase in the far right of the room. Hoping to find a place further away from the cold he climbed up but found the door locked as well. Resigning himself, Clay looked around the room searching for anything he could use as cover from the cold. After about an hour of careful rummaging so as not to make any noise he found a set of musty blankets that were moth-eaten and stained tucked away in a box. Dragging them to the corner furthest from the window, Clay sat down and carefully folded one blanket into a folded square on the ground for comfort, and then sat down and wrapped the other blanket around himself, steadfastly ignoring the stink.

Shivering still, Clay couldn’t help but wonder if this was how it had been for Justin while he lived on the streets. Imagining Justin as he was, alone and huddled away in the middle of a cold night, twisted his insides. It was a feeling that was made worse by realizing that he might have been in the same situation he was in. At that moment Clay wished that they could have found Justin sooner.

_“Maybe he wouldn’t have died if you had.”_ Whispered a treacherous part of Clay’s mind. Hugging the blankets closer to him Clay closed his eyes and wished he would just fall asleep. At least asleep he wouldn’t have to hear the thoughts. Counting in reverse from a hundred Clay slowly felt his eyelids begin to droop, and at some point later he found his world fading to black.

* * *

Waking up Clay could easily say he’d had better mornings. Then again it wasn’t hard to top waking up freezing underneath an abandoned building with spiders, and what he was sure were rats, for company. It had only been one night but already he had a newfound appreciation for his bed and insulated walls. Hugging the blanket close to himself Clay stood up and rubbed his eyes wide open. 

It had been a long night, the cold and occasional rattle and scratching waking him up at random points in the nights. At one point the sound of a yowling cat had yanked him out of his sleep, making him shrink in fright, and it was an hour or so before he could go back to sleep. Clay knew very well that the shelter he currently resided in had an open window to the outside world, and despite making sure he was hidden in the most secluded corner of the basement he knew anybody could find him if they searched the basement. Still, the basement was the safest place for him at the moment and it was that thought only that had allowed him to get any rest.

Shrugging the covers off Clay looked over the basement with the scant daylight available. Now better able to see, he noticed a few objects he hadn’t been able to see the previous day, such as a cracked mirror standing next to a pile of stacked boxes and a moth-eaten armchair. Deciding to investigate his temporary home for the foreseeable future Clay walked around rifling through whatever boxes picked his interest, hoping to find anything useful. It yielded little of use, aside from a few more moldy blankets, a small stool, a quarter, and a scuffed leather satchel. 

_“This could be of some use.”_ Clay thought to himself as felt the worn leather. It would be a useful thing to have, especially since he planned to go shopping today. At least this way he wouldn't have to worry about carrying so much stuff around. After rummaging through a few more boxes and finding nothing else of use Clay decided to head over to the window, satchel in hand.

Craning his neck Clay could barely make out a glimpse of the sun, but was sadly unable to make out anything else aside from the neighboring alley wall. If he wanted to figure out what time it was he’d have to go outside, a prospect he was not enthusiastic about. He’d have to be careful not to be spotted unless he wanted to draw unwanted attention. Taking a few minutes to consider he decided to take a few minutes to get ready before heading up.

Walking back towards the broken mirror Clay looked over his appearance critically. It was obvious to anybody with eyes that he hadn’t had a good night's sleep. Heavy bags lined his eyes like bruises and his hair was disheveled from having twisted around in his sleep. Fortunately, his clothes seemed to be in better condition, even if they were wrinkled and there was a stain of what he hoped was mud on the hem of his shirt. Lifting the collar of his shirt he gave it a careful sniff. Thankfully he wasn’t stinking yet, aside from a slight hint of sweat. He wasn’t looking his best, but he wouldn’t seem that different from any other teenage boy.

Slinging the satchel over his shoulder Clay headed back towards the window, dragging the battered stool and placing it underneath him. Cautiously poking his head slightly, Clay checked both ends of the alley to make sure the coast was clear. Slowly, Clay inched himself out, crawling out into the alley on his belly. It wasn’t the most graceful of movements, but considering this had only been his second time Clay was okay with looking like an injured worm. Standing up and dusting himself he headed out of the alley and into the street.

Now that it was bathed in daylight the street was much less menacing than it had the night before. Instead of dark and ominous the street instead seemed worn down and tired with its broken sidewalks littered with trash and graffitied buildings. Looking around Clay couldn’t help but be reminded of the streets Tony and he had found Justin living. It was a discomforting reminder. Adjusting the strap of the satchel Clay turned left and began heading back to Rosita's Cantina, mentally retracing his steps.

Unlike last night when life around him seemed to slowly vanish the opposite happened now. All around him people began stepping out into the street with purpose, clearly following their morning routine. Out of one apartment building to his left, he saw a mom dressed in scrubs dragging behind her a small girl with a backpack, harried and rushing to take her daughter to school. It was such a normal thing that Clay couldn’t help but smile. At least some parts of this weird world were still normal.

Soaking in the warmth of the sun Clay couldn’t help but think what exactly he’d do once he got to the library. An entire day had passed and his parents had to be worried sick. They’d already lost one son, what would they do with their other son now gone? Frowning, Clay picked up his pace and soon found himself exiting the rough neighborhood and entering what seemed to be the shopping district from last night.

Nothing had been the same after Justin had died, The first few days had been bad enough, his mother angry and eyes red and puffy from crying while his Dad seemed to simply shut down, going about his day on what seemed to be autopilot. Watching his parents like that had been bad enough, but at least it was something. It was about two weeks after the funeral that life had become unbearable. Thankfully the summer had ended quickly and he'd been able to leave for Brown in a few weeks. 

Passing the alley where he'd landed Clay couldn't help but remember how accurate his parents had been in their assessment of his behavior. His time in Brown wasn't exactly what would be termed appropriate, but it certainly wasn't anything too bad. However, they hadn't been wrong about his lack of communication. Arriving at Brown had been a breath of fresh air, with no ghosts or secrets lurking behind his shoulder. It had been easy to leave everything behind and not look back.

Approaching the diner Clay wondered if he should stop for breakfast. Having skipped eating yesterday he was as close to ravenous as one could be while still capable of decorum. The memory of the delicious smells of his food still on his mind Clay almost entered, but stopped himself as he touched the glass door. A full breakfast was likely to cost money he couldn't spare, and while he could use some coffee it was probably better to wait until he'd gotten what he needed from the library. Reluctantly changing course, he recalled Izzy’s directions, and aside from a few moments of confusion he was able to find the bus stop without too many problems.

Walking up to the covered bench he joined a pair of people waiting for the bus. A middle-aged bald man dressed in flannel and a woman in her thirties wearing a parka, the latter whom Clay couldn’t help but eye enviously. Standing off to the side he studied the posted bus route map and schedule. Frowning, Clay was able to make out a small square labeled Bloomington Public Library. It was far enough to walk if he wanted to, but it would be about an hour of trekking through the cold. Letting out a sigh he leaned back against the wall to wait when Clay suddenly realized he wasn't sure what time it was. 

"Could you tell me what time it is?" Clay asked, turning towards the man. Noticing his voice much clearer than yesterday, Clay reached to rub his throat. It was safe to touch now, but still a little tender. Grunting, the man lifted his head and looked at the watch in his hand. Blinking, the man turned to him and checked his watch, replying. "It's 11:30."

Clay blinked, mildly surprised it was that late in the day. He'd been tired and fading in out during the night but he hadn't realized he'd slept in that long. Still, it was better than having arrived early and waiting in the cold for the library to open. Not looking for a conversation Clay simply nodded and said thanks and waited.

As things would have it Clay didn’t have to wait long since the bus arrived about five minutes later, screeching to a halt in front of them. Wiping his sweaty palms on his jacket Clay followed the others as they boarded the bus. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of asphalt and exhaust Clay covered his mouth and sneezed. _“I hope I don’t come down with a cold.”_ Clay thought to himself as he took out his wallet and paid for his fare. Grabbing his ticket Clay walked towards the back of the found an empty seat. 

Grateful to sit on a chair in an enclosed warm space, Clay leaned against the window and let himself rest for a bit, ignoring just how many germs he was probably touching. Shutting out the rest of the world Clay watched as the bus drove through town, taking note of the scenery. Rough neighborhoods aside Bloomington was a pretty nice place, filled with picturesque buildings giving it a modern hometown vibe.

As he looked out the window Clay ran through the current situation in his head. Wherever he was this wasn't his world, that much was obvious, but that still left the question of where he was. Given that everything looked more or less the same as home and that he was in Wisconsin Clay doubted he was on another planet, even if where he was claimed to have witches, though he was still skeptical of the claim. His memory about what had happened may still be gone, but Clay steadfastly refused to believe he'd traveled space and landed on a replica of Earth. With that possibility tossed aside the only explanation left was that he had landed in another dimension, outlandish and far out as it was.

_"The others were right,"_ Clay thought to himself, _"I do read way too much sci-fi."_

While it was true that he was a huge fan of sci-fi and was well acquainted with the multiverse theory even he never believed it was actually true. Still, what other explanation was there? In any case, if he was right then according to his vast knowledge on the subject then this world he was in was both similar and dissimilar to his, and once he arrived at the library it would be up to him to figure out exactly how and find a way home. Faced with the prospect of such an enormous task Clay sighed and rubbed his forehead.

_"How is this my life?"_ Clay asked himself. Throughout his childhood and early teenage years he had eagerly read all sorts of comic books dealing with this exact issue and had indeed often wished something like it would happen to him, but he never once dreamed it would actually happen. It went to show the age-old adage true; be careful what you wish for. Well, his once childhood dream had come true and now it was a nightmare he wished would end. _"I swear if I get home I am throwing out all my comics,"_ Clay thought viciously.

After about half an hour or so the bus reached his stop. Stepping out from the bus and onto the street Clay saw the library in front of him. It was a fairly unconventional building, clearly designed along the lines of modern architecture. Forming the base of the library was a set of four low-lying, interconnected square buildings with a sloped look covered in sheets of rusted metal, a silver tower-like building standing in the center with perforated walls near the top. Walking towards the entrance Clay spotted a bronze statue of a woman wearing what seemed like a military uniform and holding what seemed like a whip. Curiosity taking the better of him, Clay headed over towards the statue.

Up close Clay could see the statue was of an African American woman with angular features in her twenties. Peering down at the plague it read "Savannah Bellweather, Hero of the World War and Lieutenant, May she rest in peace." Reading the plague Clay couldn't help but feel surprised. To the best of his knowledge, no woman had ever served in the military as an officer until the 21st century, let alone a woman of color. It seemed that wherever he was women's rights had taken an early start. Still, for all that he applauded the inclusion of women into the military he couldn't help but note that it served to highlight he was not home. Shaking his head, Clay resumed walking and entered the library.

Much like the outside, the library had a modern feel with abstract sculptures, frosted glass, and steel shelves covering the interior. Taking a step deeper into the library Clay looked around hoping to find any computers. Fortunately, they were not too far off, taking over what seemed to be the center of the library in neat rows with a young woman wearing a scarf and beanie hat sitting at a desk at the front, overseeing them. Stepping towards them Clay suddenly realized he'd probably need a library card to use. Hopefully, they weren’t too strict about computer use.

Walking over to the young woman with the beanie hat Clay asked. "Hey. I don’t have a library card but could I use a computer for research?"

The woman smiled and simply waved him off. "No worries. You can go use computer 9 for about an hour."

Saying thank you Clay walked towards the computers and found number nine. Taking a seat Clay opened the computer and was surprised to see the google chrome icon on the home screen. Grateful for the universal spanning power of google he opened the browser and stared at it, feeling a bit lost. Looking at it Clay couldn't even imagine where he should start. There was so much he wanted to know. As thought about what he should search for, the image of his parents, worried and out of their minds, came to the forefront.

Immediately Clay looked up Evergreen and his parents, only to be dismayed by the results. Evergreen did exist in this dimension, (for lack of a better term), but Liberty did not, instead replaced by a school called Washington High. Likewise, Sanderson University, where his dad worked did exist as well, but not his mom’s law firm. Desperate for any sign of them Clay checked the faculty page on the Sanderson University website, but found no Matthew Jensen listed. A deeper search using some personal information likewise revealed that there was no trace of his parents anywhere on the Internet. He wouldn't lie; even if he expected it, finding no trace of his parents was like a blow to the gut. Feeling his eyes benign to the water he wiped them off with the sleeve of his jacket. Taking a deep breath Clay repeated the same process with his friends and had a little more success.

In this world, there was a Jessica, Zach, Alex, and Charlie living in Evergreen, though from the look of their social media pages they didn’t interact much and the few pictures where they did were dated, with only the Jessica, Zach, and Alex of this world featured. Charlie, he found at Washington High as a player on the football team, with no sign of Alex anywhere. Of Tony he found nothing, and of Ani, he found only a brief mention in a news article from Stanford. A quick search of Courtney, Tyler, Marcus, Sherri, Scott, and Ryan yielded similar results. It was a sobering realization, finding so many contrasts to his world, that really drove home that this really wasn’t his world. Undeterred, Clay took a deep breath and instead looked up anything related to interdimensional travel and let out a dismal groan at the results.

There was plenty to be found on the subject but unfortunately, most of it had to with movies, comic books, foil hat blogs, and fiction. No mention of any technology that might enable one to do such a thing was to be found anywhere. In fact, in the way of concrete science, there was little except a few articles postulating the possibility or philosophizing the concept. More than a little scared but unwilling to let it bother him, Clay let out a frustrated growl and rested his head on his hands. Straining to think of anything that could be of any use Clay recalled the news broadcast from yesterday and tapped his fingers against the table, debating if it would help him. Seeing no other options Clay typed out the ludicrous word.

Witches.

Immediately, dozens of results popped, accompanied by pictures in warzones or military ceremonies. Examining them, Clay saw several websites and articles available on the subject. He even found a few familiar websites, some of which he knew reported only serious news and facts. After a few moments of indecision, Clay did what countless teenagers did and chose the most familiar website he saw; Wikipedia.

Reading the introductory paragraph Clay immediately learned exactly what a witch was. Despite what Harry Potter and Halloween would have one think, witches didn't wave around wands or consort with demons to perform magic. According to the scant few paragraphs available on the subject, witches were people born with an extra set of vocal cords and five mallei bones, which somehow enabled them to "create and affect change" on the world through sound. Honestly, to him the idea was absurd. How could sound cause such an effect on the world? 

Oddly enough there didn't seem to be a lot of information on them for all that formed the backbone of the military. Nearly every site he found had the same basic information about them as the last. Puzzled by the lack of information Clay opened up a few more pages. Finding nothing he instead decided to open up a few articles on witch culture. 

According to scholars witches were a matrilineal society with female witches making up the majority of the population and taking on most of the responsibility. There was also a male minority that instead of taking up the role of leader within a family unit instead took care of the children and home. It was an odd juxtaposition compared to what he was used to. Jessica and Ani would probably be cheering upon hearing this. Smiling at the thought Clay went back to the Wikipedia article and opened the history tab.

Reading through the article Clay was surprised by what he read. According to the article, witches had existed for thousands of years alongside humanity and were allegedly responsible for teaching early humans how to speak. Unfortunately though, how they did such a thing was not touched upon on any of the sites he found. 

Continuing, Clay soon saw that despite teaching humans how to speak coexisting with them the relationship between the two people was anything but peaceful. Reading through the material and glancing at the occasional pictures scattered throughout the webpage his stomach turned at what he saw. For the better part of a few thousand years, humans had been persecuting witches, believing them to be dangerous and evil. It wasn't anything new given what he knew of the Salem Witch Trials and the Inquisition but somehow this was different. 

Examining various websites touching on the history of witches Clay saw with clarity the brutality witches had been subjected to. Throughout the world, with few exceptions, witches had been objects of loathing and danger, threats to society, and an affront to established beliefs, and using this excuse many had persecuted them. Under the direction of institutions like the Church and governments like those of the British and Spanish, witches had been hunted down like animals. When caught witches were rarely given trials, or if so, only to have confessions of their "crimes" tortured out of them before being hung, burned, or stoned to death. The pattern continued for centuries and with such frequency that it became clear it was the goal of many to wipe them out wherever they were. Seeing all that hatred Clay had to stop and look away for a few minutes to clear his head and stop the growing feeling of nausea at some of the methods of torture and execution used in such pogroms. How could such blatant hate and violence ever be misconstrued as righteous or just?

Accompanying the articles were dozens of pictures showing examples of such brutality being carried out. One particular picture showed a pair of young witches hung on a noose, muzzled so they would be unable to use their magic. The article continued like that at length until a section labeled 1692. Evidently, during the height of the Salem Witch Trials, the colonists at Salem had captured a young witch named Sarah Alder and her sister. The people had been ready to kill her and had already done so with her sister, but at the last minute, Sarah Alder had cast some sort of spell calling up a storm that had stopped the colonists in their tracks.

Clay paused and frowned as read that piece of information. Hadn’t Sarah Alder been the name of the woman yesterday on the news? The picture had little detail on it to make out any features. Maybe the Sarah Alder he had seen on TV yesterday was a descendant of that girl? Clay shook his head and returned to his sleuthing.

To be frank, the whole thing seemed more like a fantasy novel than an actual historical event, but all the websites said something to the same effect. Continuing his research Clay found out that instead of killing Sarah Alder the colony leaders had instead released her, aware of the potential in the magic she possessed, they negotiated with her for her promise to use her powers to protect the entire colony. Both sides, if they could be called such when one consisted only of a single woman, had gathered to discuss what that meant and after some talk and back and forth a decision had been reached. That day Sarah Alder had proclaimed that if they released her and made a place for witches she would devote her powers for their use in battle and their protection.

That night an agreement was signed that soon became known as the Salem Accord and reading through the rest of the article he learned that Sarah Alder had indeed kept her promise. Following that she rallied countless witches to her nascent army, recruiting from all over, including from among the population of African slaves in the colonies. The rest of the article continued, detailing how by the time the American Revolution rolled around Sarah Alder and her witch army proved their worth by winning the war for independence in a single afternoon with a surprise attack on British and Hessian troops, leading to the Salem Accord being carried over into the newly founded nation and even incorporated into the U.S. Constitution, guaranteeing witches a place as the main military of the United States. Curiosity piqued Clay typed out "Salem Accord." 

Reading through it Clay couldn’t even believe something like this could ever be part of the U.S. Constitution. Under the law, all witches born within the U.S. and its territories were required to submit themselves to a place called Fort Salem at eighteen for military training, after which it would be decided what their place in the army would be. From that point on, they served for the rest of their lives until death. Pulling up a copy of the Salem Accord on a separate tab Clay found out it was indeed true. Unless given dispensation witches had no other option but to join the military.

How could anything like this ever pass as a law, especially in the United States? As messed up as his country was Clay could never imagine anything passing that would sanction what was essentially slavery, especially one in which they might die. Scanning through some google images Clay saw countless photos of young girls in dress uniforms, some looking even younger than eighteen. How could anybody be ok with this? 

After another glance at the search results, Clay saw that not everybody agreed with this. Several scholarly articles decried the Salem Accord, but those were few and far in between. More than a few called for a repeal of the whole thing and disbandment of the witch military, though from the tone of they did not demand this out of any source of mercy. Combing through news articles Clay saw that one group of witches, called the Spree, carried their protest a step further, launching terror attacks all over the world resulting in countless deaths.

Examining the photos of the aftermath of their attacks Clay had to restrain the urge to throw up. They were horrid pictures, showing the acts of terrorists rather than activists. Still, in their eyes, violence was the only way to end conscription around the world. In any case, whoever the Spree were, they had no qualms about killing people if it served their agenda.

“How the hell did I end up here?” Clay asked himself as he took out his notebook and began jotting everything down.

* * *

Overall his trip to the library had been very productive. Aside from the fact that witches were clearly a real thing, he soon discovered a few more interesting facts. Such as the fact that fewer than fifty states existed. Having pulled up a map of the United States he saw that in this world some states didn’t even exist, instead, the land that belonged to the states from his world had been absorbed by others such as Virginia. However, the most striking difference was that in this world all the states bordering the west bank of the Mississippi river did not exist, replaced instead by a gigantic Native American reservation known as the Chippewa Cession. Back in his world, the largest Native American reservation had been the Navajo Reservation, and even that had only been a fraction of the size of the Chippewa Cession, which stretched from the Gulf of Mexico to the Canadian border.

Intrigued, he’d typed in “Chippewa Cession” and read up on its history. Apparently, at some point during the 1700s Sarah Alder reached out to the displaced Native American tribes of the time in an attempt to bargain with their witches for their magic. The negotiations had been bitter and lasted for many days, but in the end, driven by desperation, the Native American witches had given Sarah Alder several spells in exchange for the vast swath of land known as the Chippewa Cession. It seemed ridiculous that such an exchange had occurred, that so much land would be given in exchange for something as frivolous sounding as spells.

Resting his head in his hands Clay stared at the screen, staring mindlessly at the words. Skimming over the website Clay blinked as he took note of the dates. Sarah had been in her late twenties when the Salem Accord had been signed in 1692. The date for the creation of the cession had been late in the 1700s. Straightening up, Clay quickly did the math. Sarah Alder would have been in her 70’s, but he could have sworn he saw her listed as the leader of the military in the mid-1800’s. 

“She’d be practically dust by now,” Clay muttered under his breath as he deftly typed out Sarah Alder's name. At the top of the page appeared a photo of the same woman he’d seen on the news yesterday. Clicking on the link beneath it Clay read the small biography available on the woman who served as the de facto head of the military.

Going through the text available Clay had to backtrack and check multiple websites to make sure what he was reading was real and not an excerpt from a fantasy novel. Apparently, the same Sarah Alder who had signed the Salem accord more than three centuries ago was the same one who had delivered a live speech on the news just yesterday. Clay rubbed his head as he felt a headache forming from the strain of trying to process how somebody could live so long. As far as he knew humans could only live about a century at most, and even then only with the wear and tear of age heavily present. If the photos were accurate Sarah Alder appeared no more than fifty years old.

“So I am supposedly stuck in a world with immortal witches,” Clay said to himself, rubbing his temples. How had his life come to this? Rather than focus on his minor mental meltdown, he chose to instead give closer attention to the photos of Sarah Alder. Just by glancing at her picture he could tell she was a strong woman, her eyes showing a hint of steel-hard resolve. It was easy picturing her as a general and having read of her several accomplishments, if any person could be immortal it would be her. Adding this new information to his notebook he glanced at the timer.

Noticing the timer blinking with a five-minute warning Clay was reminded of the fact that he hadn't eaten in more than a day. Pulling out his wallet Clay stared at the remainder of fifty dollars. He couldn't afford to eat, especially now that he knew was in an entirely different world with another source of money. As it was he couldn't keep living on the rough as it was with only his current clothing. With that in mind, Clay pulled up any grocery stores, pharmacies, or thrift stores near him.

Fortunately for him, the computer showed a pharmacy and thrift store only a mile away from here. Packing up his stuff Clay logged off and hurried out of the building. It was better if he left right now and headed back to the basement. If yesterday was any indication, it would be dark by five, and he’d need to find both the thrift store and pharmacy before then if he wanted to get back to the basement while there was still daylight. 

Combing through the streets, Clay soon found the pharmacy. It was fairly large but he had no trouble finding the food aisle. Critically inspecting the scant food available he picked out a few items he knew would last; two jars of peanut butter and jelly, a few loaves of bread, plastic cutlery, and some granola bars. Heading over to the toiletries section he hesitated a little before swiping a roll of toothpaste and toothbrush, as well as deodorant, and then headed over to the cash register. Watching the cashier ring up the items Clay saw that he had spent a little over a quarter of his money. With any luck, there would still be some left for his trip to the thrift store.

Thanking the cashier he took the plastic bag and exited the store, practically speed walking towards the thrift store. Thankfully the store was only a block away. Weaving through the crowd Clay quickly found it and entered it. Inside he saw the space of the store filled with racks full of secondhand clothing and apparel.

Appraising his current situation Clay realized he would need more than just one jacket. Scanning through the available options rapidly he found a thick quilted jacket with fleece lining. Lifting the sleeve of the jacket he saw the price tag marked it as only twelve dollars. Finding no better options Clay grabbed and headed over to the other aisles for a few other pieces of clothing. Conscious of the time Clay rushed through the aisles and snatched a shirt, two more pairs of socks, a reusable water bottle, and some underwear. This little shopping spree had no doubt burned through what remained of his money. He would have loved grabbing some jeans or a pair of thick snow boots, but he could make do with what he had. Paying what was needed he left the store and hurried headed back to the bus stop.

By the time he got on the bus and managed to get back to Rosita's Cantina, it was already dark. For all that he had hurried to get back, the time had still caught up with him. Once he reached his stop he all but ran out and hurried back to his basement, a proposition made easier by the fact he had stuffed half his purchases in his newly acquired satchel. Within twenty minutes Clay caught sight of his temporary home. Slipping into the alley he sat his bags down and inched his way back inside. 

Dragging his bag back to his corner Clay solemnly unpacked his purchases, especially mindful of how precious they were. Taking out the peanut butter and bread he used the plastic utensils to make himself two sandwiches. Leaning back against the wall Clay took a bite. It was weird to think he was eating a peanut butter sandwich in an abandoned basement. Swallowing another bite he wondered what his next move should be.

He could probably walk to the library while he was here now that he knew where it was and use the bathroom and water fountains, but what about after that? His food would only last a couple of days before it ran out and his money was all but gone. And what about his parents? How exactly could he reach them from a different world?

Forcing himself to eat the second sandwich Clay took out his notebook. In an hour he had filled it with notes about everything he had learned about this world. Opening it he stared at the entry labeled witches. He had been doubtful about them, even after reading all he had on the internet, but perhaps they could help him. Their magic could alter the world around them. Maybe they could help him and send him home, but how was he going to find a witch? According to the internet all witches served in the military, and contacting them with his request was a prospect he didn’t relish. Even if he did, how could he explain what had happened to him without sounding like a lunatic?

Letting out a sigh Clay put away his notebook. _“At least it's something,”_ Clay thought to himself before turning in. Tomorrow he'd head back to the library and spend the day there doing some more research. It would beat hanging out here all day with the rats and spiders doing nothing. 

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 3: To See The World With New Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer Applies
> 
> Warning: Mentions of Rape and Depictions of Mental Health 
> 
> This is my first fanfic and any constructive criticism is welcome. The chapter got little away from but I hope you like it.

Studying abroad was something Clay had long since toyed with. To be frank, the idea of putting an international border between him and his problems back in Evergreen had been extremely tempting, and more than once he had found himself rifling through glossy pamphlets extolling the virtues of spending a semester abroad in Germany or England. However, having now experienced a week "abroad" in an entirely new world Clay now found the idea rather overrated. Right now he'd do anything for his dorm room at Brown or his old bedroom back at his parent's house.

It had been a trying seven days for him and Clay soon found himself dealing with problems he had never had to deal with before. Obviously, living in an abandoned basement was bound to have its issues but this was an entirely new and altogether strange situation for him. Between adapting to living out of a basement, rationing what little food he had, and getting used to living without a bathroom, Clay found the levels of his endurance thoroughly tested. Admittedly some challenges had been easier to handle than others.

So far, getting used to living in the basement had been the easiest thing to get used to in this new world, that is if one didn't take into account the state of disrepair and the accompanying dust, spiders, mold, and rats. Despite it being January and having to get used to the freezing temperature drops at night it had been relatively easy to deal with that thanks to his purchases. Between his new jacket, socks, and the old moth-eaten blankets, Clay was able to stay relatively warm. Or at least warm enough not to freeze to death during the night. It also helped that the piles of boxes helped create enough of a barrier to keep out the wind that blew in from the broken window. The lack of food and water had been harder. 

Getting drinking water had been easy enough. Every day, Clay would wake up early in the morning around eight in the morning and walk three miles to the library and use the drinking fountains to fill his water bottle. It was a grueling routine, waking up early in the morning to walk that far to get water. Doing so, Clay was reminded of how kids in Africa would traverse larger distances for clean drinking water. It was a humbling realization that made him give him a newfound appreciation for tap water, though it did little to stop him from being in a bad mood from trekking in the cold that early in the morning.

Food was another complicated and difficult issue. In an attempt to stretch out his food supply, Clay had limited his meals to one snack and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a day, something which had tested his self-control greatly. All his life, he had never had to worry about food, instead of grabbing whatever he could find in the fridge whenever he was hungry or order take out if he was busy. He was ill-prepared for a lack of food and it showed soon enough.

The first three days had been the worst. With his new diet, Clay found himself moving sluggishly and willing away headaches in the morning. At times the hunger pangs got so bad that he found himself hugging his sides to power through them. Many times, Clay found himself wanting to do nothing more than to give in to the hunger and dig into his meager food supplies so the pain would stop. Only the reminder that if that he would left without any food at all kept him from doing so. He didn't really want to test whether or not humans could actually live a month without food.

Nevertheless, the most noticeable and unavoidable issue with his new living situation was the lack of a bathroom. Never again would he take accessible indoor plumbing and toilet paper for granted. As with the drinking water, he was able to take care of most of his needs by spending most of his days at the library. Unfortunately, since the library was only open from 9-8, his opportunities to use the restroom were rather limited, leaving him with thirteen other hours to figure out what to do when nature called. Left with no recourse Clay had swiped a few rolls of toilet paper from the library whenever he had the chance and after a few expeditions throughout the neighborhood, he was able to find a few spots where he was able to do his business discreetly. It was an arrangement that mortified him to near death, but given his current situation, it was the best he could do.

Yet, odd as it sounded, it wasn't any of the above three issues that drove him crazy. That honor was given to his inability to take a shower. Early on he had figured out he could clean himself by washing off some of the dirt and grime that accumulated using the sinks and paper towels at the library whenever no one was in the bathroom with him, but that only helped somewhat. With no way to properly clean himself the grime and sweat of living on the rough and crawling out through the basement window steadily accumulated and clung to his body and clothes, leaving him smelling like a mix of sweaty gym clothes and damp garbage. The deodorant and clothes he'd bought, as well as the limited washing he could do, mitigated some of the smell but after seven days without a shower, there was no hiding that he stank, and even looked the part despite his best efforts. 

The only thing that made all of this bearable was his daily trips to the library. Sure, walking more than three miles back and forth every day in the cold was a chore, but the chance to rest on one of the couches and read or use one of the computers was a privilege Clay treasured. Before becoming stranded here he always liked going to the library and reading books, but these days he was practically living out of it and now savored every moment he could spend in it and hated whenever closing time would come around. It was sort of a miracle place, but even the library couldn't solve all his problems.

Today he had taken inventory of his food supply and found it dwindling rapidly. As it was he had only enough food for two more days, maybe four if limited himself to one sandwich and a snack, but that did little else but remind Clay he would soon be without food. Unwilling to deal with this new problem yet Clay found himself tucked away in a corner of the second floor of the library reading about the Mexican-American war. It was fascinating to learn how exactly witches factored into the military and it served to take his mind off his worries.

Ever since his first day of research Clay had devoted himself to studying this new world, devouring books and online articles on all sorts of topics like food. His main subject of interest, however, were the witches. With no technology existing that enabled interdimensional travel, Clay quickly realized that despite his skepticism his best chance of getting back lay with the witches and their magic. As such, he found himself scouring the library and the Internet for anything even remotely relating to the topic.

Sadly, the Bloomington Public Library, despite its free internet and a rather impressive collection of books, was rather limited on information regarding witches and the exact nature of their powers. Sure, the history of witches was relatively well documented, but only as it pertained to their persecution and their involvement in war and the military. Nowhere could he find any mention of what type of magic the witches possessed or how they used it or what it could do exactly. Nevertheless, having poured through countless articles and books Clay had been able to gather some information, few as it was. 

From what he could gather from several historical accounts and some guesswork, the power of a witch was capable of generating and manipulating the weather, restoring limbs, and seeing across hundreds of miles. It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring to think of one person being able to do such things. Just the mere thought of one woman's voice doing such things giving him goosebumps. Still, that they could do such things gave him hope. Maybe it was asking too much, but if they could do that then maybe they could find a way to send him home. That is if he could get a hold of an actual witch and convince them to help him.

Unfortunately, there was no way to find a witch unless one knew who to contact amongst the military, and given the serious role they occupied, Clay doubted it would be as easy as looking up a psychic or a fortune-teller. The task was made especially harder since according to a government website witches were not allowed to use their abilities outside military operations without express military permission. If he truly wanted to find a witch then he would have to figure out a way to get in contact with the military, though the idea of doing so was laughable. Longshot as it was though, it was still his best chance at getting back. Since then he had focused on finding out more about the military.

Sighing, Clay closed the book as he finished the chapter on the Battle of Juarez. _"I'd kill for a cheeseburger right about now,"_ Clay thought mournfully as he placed the book back in its place.

For all the interesting facts and aspects of witch military history, it couldn't make Clay forget his hunger completely. He'd been able to hold off the hunger for nearly a week, but now he was at breaking point. Healthy as he was, his body couldn't cope with the constant stress of his daily treks and lack of adequate food indefinitely. The hunger had clawed away at his strength, leaving him feeling weaker than he had ever been. As it stood unless he found a new source of food he was in big trouble.

Wincing as another hunger pang hit Clay drew his knees to his chest and sat down again. Right now, he wished for one of his dad’s pasta dishes to stop feeling this hungry. Just the memory of the golden pasta and rich red sauce was enough to make his mouth water. Feeling his stomach gnaw itself Clay closed his eyes and willed the thought of food away. All it did was make the situation worse.

Grabbing his bag, Clay pulled out his notebook, more than halfway filled out with all his research on witches. Attempting to distract himself he flipped the small notebook open and began reading through what he had written. Obvious investment and anxiety and desperation aside, Clay’s nerd side rejoiced at the chance to learn about a people as interesting and unique as witches. 

_"Maybe I'll win a Nobel prize when I get back,"_ Clay mused, chuckling at the thought of stepping on stage and receiving such a prestigious award for his discovery of witches and the existence of magic, _"though I'm not certain what category I would enter it under. Maybe under literature as a book? A Treatise on Evolution of Witches and their Abilities? The Multiverse Made Real? The scientists would eat me alive if I did that though."_

The image of a pack of academics snarling with razor-sharp fangs holding pitchforks and torches was enough to wrest out a soundless laugh. It had been days since he had had anything to laugh about and despite the wheezing and shortness of breath, Clay welcomed it. He couldn't even remember when was the last time he'd done so. Settling down, Clay smiled as he went over his notes.

It had been grueling work combing through so much information, but he had more or less whittled out all the important stuff. To his surprise, Clay learned that some of the knowledge from his world had translated over to this one. Like how witches actually did have marks, like the old priests and other officials claimed, though not as a sign from the devil. All witches had on their bodies somewhere a distinctive mark that served as a way to track a lineage as each was unique to a particular family.

Likewise, it seemed there was some truth to the myths about how witches could use gestures for good luck or fly. In the case of the latter, it seemed the witches of the military seemed to possess some sort of ability to arrest the flow of gravity temporarily, forgoing parachutes when dropping out of planes if what the books hinted at was true. As for the former, somebody's blogs had touched on how witches were able to use their magic without the use of their voices, contradicting the various websites claiming their abilities were vocal rather than tactile. It was a topic he was eager to look into if only to sate his curiosity.

Still, as he reached the end of his notes Clay realized how truly little he had actually accomplished in regards to his research goals. The small notebook was half full for all that he scoured the library and the Internet for any information he could find. Looking at it Clay's belief that this couldn't possibly be the sum of all witch knowledge was reinforced. How could there be so little information on something so important? Had he overlooked something?

"Aren't you supposed to be smart?" asked an arrogant voice to his right.

Startled, Clay whipped his head around to find Bryce Walker sitting beside him, his nose wrinkled in distaste. "Also, dude, no offense, but you reek," Bryce added, his tone making it clear that he definitely wanted to offend him.

Unconsciously, Clay pushed himself away from Bryce, mouth open in shock. Unlike him, the dead jock looked well-groomed and neat, impeccably dressed in blue jeans and a red long sleeve shirt. Nowhere he could see was there any evidence of his fight with Zach or his death by drowning. Gulping, Clay saw his features twist into a smirk. Noticing his former rival so discomfited Bryce said in a mocking tone. "What? Come on you can't be that surprised to see me. It's been only a few months since our little heart to heart during the drill with Monty?

" W-w-what are you doing here," stammered Clay, his heart pounding. Bryce was not supposed to be here; he was supposed to be gone. "I'm over you. I shouldn't be seeing you." And that was how it was supposed to be. He'd done the therapy and taken the medicine. Dr. Elman had assured him he was past this part of his life.

Bryce shot him a hurt look and mimed clutching his heart. "I'm hurt. Like really fucking hurt. After everything, we've been through? I mean, I know we weren't friends but come on, can't you take pity on a poor ghost? Besides, you should be grateful."

Clay reeled as if he'd been struck, astounded at Bryce's audacity. Glaring at him Clay seethed. "Are you fucking serious! You raped Jessica and Hannah and beat the crap out of me and god knows what else! All you've ever done was hurt me and my friends! Why should I be grateful to you about anything?!"

Bryce raised his hand in surrender, his expression nonchalant. "I never claimed I didn't, but in my defense, I was trying to make amends before my life ended. In any case, I was referring to the fact I'm only the familiar face you've seen since you arrived in this weird place."

Clay grew silent as he processed Bryce's words. It was easy to hate Bryce and be angry with him, but he was right, though it galled Clay to admit it, even to himself. In life, Bryce had been a monster, responsible for Hannah’s death and the subsequent pain it had caused for him and all his friends as well as Jessica's suffering. Yet after the trial, Bryce had tried to change for the better, helping Justin pay off his drug debts with Seth and keeping Monty away from Tyler. Ani herself had vouched for his changed behavior. Hell, he had heard Bryce’s tape telling everyone how he regretted what he had done, and yet a part of him couldn't reconcile that with what he knew. Maybe a part of him did believe Bryce and his confession, and maybe some weird and messed up part of him was relieved to see him, but for him, there was no memory of that new and changed Bryce that was like Prince Charming compared to his old self. What memories he did have of Bryce were ones he'd rather forget: Hannah's broken voice, Jessica's anguished face, and the pain from Bryce beating him up. 

Narrowing his eyes at the apparition Clay said in a measured voice, his willpower strained even by that. "So what do you want?" However much he wanted to yell and drive him away Clay reminded himself he was in a public place.

Bryce shrugged, "You tell me. You brought me here, and since you did I'm guessing you're desperate."

Clay scoffed incredulously, "What are you talking about? I didn't bring you here."

Bryce rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation, "Were you always so dense?" Bryce groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Ok, let me put this in terms you can understand. What was it that Dr. Elman said before when you told him the voices and hallucinations stopped?"

"What are you talking about?" Clay questioned, growing impatient with Bryce's attitude. He wasn't about to let Bryce carry on when he could just tell him and go, especially since he had no idea what he was talking about.

Clay would never admit to Bryce's apparition, but he couldn't remember much about his sessions with Dr. Elman. They had covered so much before he left for college that everything was a bit of a blur. He could still remember the breathing exercises and a few other things but for the life of him, he couldn't recall what Dr. Elman had said to him after the voices and hallucinations had stopped. It also didn't help that he'd been ignoring Dr. Elman and skipping his appointments with him for the last month.

Looking resigned Bryce took a deep breath and clasped his hands together, "I guess I'm gonna have to lead you on this," Bryce muttered. Before Clay could protest Bryce stood up and adopted an intellectual pose. "Alright. I know reasonable thought is something of a novelty for you but please follow me as I explain. As Dr. Elman so succinctly explained; yes, the hallucinations were over, but that little psychological breakthrough came after several profound and sincere sessions with Dr. Elman and the heavy use of mood stabilizers and antidepressants. Now I realize you've sort of been scrambling to stay alive but appreciate that for the past seven days you've been under great stress in a strange place with no support network and no medication, not that you've been bothering with those for a while now, but still, you're maxed out and it's showing."

"That still doesn't explain why you're here." Clay said, the shock of seeing Bryce having completely worn off by now, "last I checked over and done with you.”

Bryce sighed, "I was getting to that. See you're not really over me. What happened was that you got your crap together long enough for you to build a wall to keep me out, which existed because you kept on top of everything, but for the last couple of months, you've been all over the place, letting those walls break down and crumble. You being here was just the straw that broke the camel's back." 

"Wow," Clay commented, trying to unfazed, "even dead you're still a dick. A smart dick able of using big words like succinctly correctly, but a dick nonetheless."

"And you're the guy who is pinning all his hopes on finding a witch to send him back home," retorted Bryce, clearly offended and sounding annoyed, "but I don't judge."

“Is there any point to this besides insulting me,” Clay demanded, trying to will Bryce away and failing, “What? Are you trying to help me or what?”

“No clue at all,” replied Bryce, settling down to lie on the floor with arms behind his neck, “I’m just making the most of my time here. It’s not often I have a chance to get out and stretch my legs since you started getting better. Besides, I felt sort of bad seeing you here. But our little conversation? Completely spur of the moment.”

“Well, glad to hear it, but first of all, you're a figment of my mind,” retorted Clay, desperately trying to keep his rising temper in check. Before, seeing Bryce had been enough to get him mad, and seeing him again as a hallucination did not change that, “and second of all, I don't need your help.”

Instead of looking offended or angry like before Bryce simply laughed, “I get that, but still, I’m out here, so I'm just enjoying it. As for the help thing, well, you need all the help you can get.” 

Clay ground his teeth, about to say something rather rude when Bryce said, "I mean you've needed help for a long time now, especially since you haven't told anybody about your little adventures in college." 

Clay's blood froze at Bryce’s words. "What are you talking about?" 

"Dude, please. I'm a part of your mind. Not like you can hide the past couple of months from me." Bryce said as he looked at the ceiling. Great, now his hallucinations were ignoring him.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Clay said, hoping to shut him up. There was no way he was going to continue this conversation with Bryce Walker's apparition.

"So I don't know you've been drinking a lot, or skipping your medication, ditching classes, and generally making dumb decisions. And that's all without me even touching on-." Bryce rattled off before Clay finally lost it.

"Shut up," shouted Clay, dashing to his feet and ready to take a swing at Bryce only to see him blink out of existence.

_"He doesn't know what he's talking about,"_ Clay reassured himself. Thoroughly unsettled, he stood up and grabbed his bag, hugging it close to his chest. Not willing to spend another minute here he headed away from his corner. Unfortunately, he was so busy trying to understand what had happened just now he ran into someone taller than him, knocking the breath out of him for a second.

Pulling himself back Clay saw he had run headfirst into a tall middle-aged man with gray hair. Rearranging his satchel Clay stepped back and mumbled, “I'm sorry”

The man, dressed in a thick sweater and vest with brown slacks, simply waved him off. "No problem," the man said, though his face clearly said otherwise if his furrowed brow was any indication. The man's face soon shifted, looking uncomfortable and distressed "Um….my is Steven Orden and I work here at the library."

"Um..hi," Clay replied, "nice to meet you?" 

Steven clapped his hands and pressed his lips together as if trying to figure out the best way to proceed. "So I and my coworkers have seen you've been hanging here around the library a lot and that's great!" Steven began nervously, "However, we've also noticed that also….look….a bit grimy and a little malnourished."

At that moment Clay could have sworn he nearly died from embarrassment. He knew what he looked like with his dirt and sweat-stained clothes on his gaunt frame as he slowly lost weight. Still, he had made sure to avoid running into people and clean up when he could. Blushing fiercely Clay quickly responded, "Uh, yeah. I've sort of been a bit sick and haven't really been taking care of himself." It was a lie, but right now the last thing he wanted to deal with was a worried grown-up.

Steven's eyes softened visibly and gave Clay a pitying gaze, "Look, kid, you're not the first one in your situation to hang around here trying to get some shelter."

"What are you talking about?" Clay asked, wishing he could just leave and not talk with the librarian.

"How old are you?" Steven asked rapidly, completely ignoring his question.

"Eighteen?" Clay replied uncertainly, his answer sounding more like a question. Why did this strange want to know his age? 

A flash of relief appeared on Steven's face only to disappear and be replaced by a look halfway between regret and compassion. "Oh..ok...well look, for the most part, we don't mind if people like you hang out around here, especially this time of year, but we've received some complaints and well…." Steven trailed off uneasily and looked away for a second, as if ashamed.

Suspicious as to what the librarian was trying to say Clay decided to force the situation. "What do you mean by my situation?" 

Taking a deep breath Steven turned to look him straight in the eye. "Homeless I mean," he said finally, the tone of his voice much firmer than before.

Well, at least Steven was talking about what Clay had already suspected. Still, what exactly was he trying to tell him? Unsure how to proceed Clay decided to stop beating around the bush. "Ok. What are you trying to say?"

Letting out a deep sigh Steven explained in a delicate tone. "Kid, this isn't me saying anything against you, but you're putting a few people on edge hanging around here so often. I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

For a moment Clay was too shocked to process what the librarian was trying to tell. Was he seriously trying to make him leave the library? Quickly, Clay tried to think if he had done anything wrong or messed anything up, but nothing came up. What was he going to do now if couldn't come back to the library? This was literally his only source of water and the only place he could clean himself up somewhat and use the bathroom. 

More importantly, however, this was the only place he had a chance of finding a way home. Desperately, Clay spoke in the most polite tone of voice he could. "Look, I'm sorry if I did anything wrong or made somebody uncomfortable but please don't kick me out. I need to do some important research."

The librarian gave him an odd look but shook his head as if making up his mind. "As I said, I'm very sorry, but you need to leave." 

"I'm sorry, but please let me stay here, I'm in the middle of some extremely important life or death stuff," Clay pleaded before realizing he probably sounded like a maniac. He really had to work on socializing like a normal person.

Steven just shook his head helplessly, as if doing this physically pained him. Pursing his lips he pulled out a small sheaf of folded papers from his pockets and offered them to him. Confused, Clay accepted them and glanced at them. On the piece of paper were an address and a map. Clay shot Steven a confused look.

"It's the address for a local food kitchen and shelter," Steven explained gently, "the people there can also help you find a more permanent situation and get cleaned. After that maybe you can come back."

That was when it dawned on Clay what was really going on. He hadn't done anything wrong or bothered anybody. Steven might be offering to help but he heard what he truly wanted to say. _"You're too dirty and homeless looking to be hanging around here. Come back when you look like a person."_

Angry, Clay clenched his hands, crumbling up the pieces of paper. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to turn Steven's help into a ball and throw it in his face. He wanted to scream and yell and call him out on it but he remembered what Bryce had. _"You're maxing out and it's showing."_

Gritting his teeth Clay restrained himself. Steven had said this was just temporary until he cleaned up and was less offensive to people's sensibilities. He could come back. Besides, he wasn't in a position to turn down help or make a scene. If he did he'd get banned from the library and then actually get into serious trouble, losing access to his only source of information. Besides he was in dire need of food. 

"Thank you," Clay said icily, "I'll look into it. Hopefully, I can clean up and look less offensive to the eye. Not like people like me need to read or be warm." He probably should have just left it at thank you and left, but he couldn't resist calling out the librarian on his shit.

Seeing the librarian flinch at his words, Clay turned on his heel and headed towards the exit. Stalking past the bookshelves he clenched his hands even harder, practically murdering the pieces of paper. As he put more distance between him and the librarian Clay's anger began to fade, instead replaced by a growing feeling of humiliation, which left him confused. What did he have to be embarrassed about? The problem lay those jackasses in the library.

Yet as he stepped out into the cold Clay felt his eyes water. Furiously wiping away the offending moisture Clay headed for the statue of Savannah Bellweather. 

Alright, if he was being honest with himself that had been perhaps the most humiliating moment in his life, and that was counting his little episode during the shooter drill and being hospitalized after the fact. It was different this time though. This time he'd done everything right. He had kept a low profile, hadn't caused any trouble, and tried to stay as clean as possible. There had been no reason for him to be kicked put on the street like a stray cat from a public building.

_"I didn't do anything wrong,"_ Clay repeated to himself, _"It’s not like I actually have anything to be embarrassed about. It's the librarian who should be embarrassed."_

Unwilling to dwell on his feelings Clay smoothed out the papers the librarian had given him. Whatever else he might be feeling he still needed to eat and a soup kitchen was exactly the place to find something. Frankly, he wondered why he hadn't thought of looking up a soup kitchen while he was at the library. Whatever the case it didn't matter anymore. Studying the papers he saw the soup kitchen was about two miles from here due west. 

Running through the calculations of how long it would take to get there and make his way back to the basement Clay bit back a few choice words and the urge to throw down papers in frustration. It would take over an hour to get there, and that was if he managed to find and without taking into account the trip back to the basement. The shelter wasn't much better, a mile or so away from the kitchen.

_"I should go back and shove this up his ass,"_ Clay thought darkly. It would definitely be immensely satisfying to do so, even if it would get him arrested.

Quelling his murderous impulses Clay looked back at the map again. Examining it closely he simply groaned and sighed. According to the paper, the kitchen stopped serving at eight. Resigning himself Clay began walking. If he wanted to find the soup kitchen and get back while there was still light he'd have to hurry.

Walking and crossing the streets of Bloomington Clay realized he was terrible at reading maps. Growing up with GPS he had never had any need to look at an actual map or even learn how to read them when all he had to do was type in an address into his phone if he ever got lost. Now that he was without with only a paper map to guide him he regretted and vowed to fix that. Going off logical thought and intuition Clay studied the map and tried comparing it to where he was, following the directions the best that he could. It seemed to work for the most part but at some point he must've taken a wrong turn because he couldn't find Evering Street.

Not wanting to get lost Clay tried to ask around for help but every time he approached somebody they would scurry away before he could reach them. Confused and frustrated Clay looked around trying to find somebody to help him. Watching a man in a trenchcoat heading in his direction Clay hurried over and stood in front of him, not wanting him to get away.

"Excuse me, sir, could you-," Clay began before the man cut him off abruptly, an angry look on his face.

"Jesus can't you people leave us alone!" The man said harshly, the vitriol on the man's voice rendering Clay silent, "Hey, you know maybe instead of begging and eating up free food you should try working." With that the man spit on the ground and shouldered past Clay, leaving him stunned.

Clay knew he didn't look too good or smell that well but he was just asking for directions. Hell, when he'd first landed here Jake and Nia had been more than willing to help. Was this really what it had been like for Justin? People moving around and ignoring you, thinking the worst, and treating you like trash. Confused and feeling more than a little cowed Clay tried looking for the street signs to figure out where he was, his hands trembling. As it turned out Evering street wasn't far from where he was. 

Walking for what felt like an hour, Clay couldn't get over what had just happened. He might have presented himself a bit forcefully but he hadn't done anything. Logically he knew that the man was just being a bastard but something about that encounter had rattled him. That man's words had touched something far too vulnerable and exposed; a raw nerve, causing shock to ripple all over him when poked.

Gnawing on the thought and running over it Clay realized that he had never given much thought about the homeless. Sure, he had learned what it was like to live on the streets from Justin, and like most people of his generation he was aware of the homeless crisis back home, but landing here had given him firsthand experience of what it was actually like. He now had a clear idea of what it had been like for Justin. 

During his week here Clay had learned quickly how lost and uncertain one felt walking around without the promise of a safe home. How quickly filth accumulated, making one desperate for a bath and a chance to look and smell more like a person. He now knew what it was like to spend all your time trying to survive, feeling less and less like a human with every day that passed with nothing but worrying about food and how you'd get by the next day. It certainly drove home what a terrible thing it was, becoming one of the homeless and dispossessed.

Overall, Clay had always considered himself enlightened and nuanced but now that he had a taste of what being homeless was he felt ashamed that he hadn't tried to do something to help the homeless. Hell, he didn't even have the excuse of ignorance. Justin had explained what it was like but he had always kept those thoughts at the margins of his mind. His encounter with that man had brought them all to the forefront though, leaving him feeling like an absolute douchebag.

_"Things were difficult,"_ a part of him whispered, trying to comfort him, _"you were busy trying to survive, and you did help out Justin instead of leaving him there."_

That thought did little to comfort him though; it made him feel worse.

It took half an hour and a few more wrong turns but he soon found the soup kitchen. Still feeling rattled by his encounter Clay hesitated at the door. The building was a regular looking building with well-kept brick walls and wide windows. On top of the front door was a sign that read **“Saving Mercy Soup Kitchen: Here to feed the body and nourish the soul.”**

"Come on," Clay said to himself as he stood at the front of the door. He briefly lifted his hand and reached for the door, but stopped himself. After that little bit of soul searching he had just done he felt guilty entering the soup kitchen and taking the food for the homeless for himself. Did he even deserve it?

_"You're one of the homeless now so technically the food is for you."_

The thought hit him like a sledgehammer. Stranded in a strange world with no family, friends, home, or home he truly was one of the homeless and dispossessed. Logically, Clay knew that, but somehow and for some reason he had blocked out the reality of his situation. He didn't know why though.

Scratch that. Clay did know why. To him, homelessness had always been something of a permanent thing. He had never before met somebody who had been homeless and wasn't anymore, aside from Justin, and that had been because he and his parents had intervened and took him in. Admitting it would have been him acknowledging that perhaps this situation wasn't temporary. It would mean that maybe this was permanent for him, that he was stuck in this strange world with no way to get back home and see his friends and parents again. That was why he had looked up the soup kitchen before.

For what seemed like the third time that day Clay had to hold himself back from crying. Right now a part of him wanted to turn around and leave, but his grumbling stomach prevented him. He could probably make it back to his basement without food despite the distance, but he'd probably be crawling most of the way back. At this point the hunger had turned into a hungry lion, clawing at his stomach and demanding to be fed. Pushing his insecurities aside Clay pushed the door open and entered.

The place looked exactly like the cafeteria Liberty, filled with collapsible tables and scuffed tiles. Like Liberty, it was also packed with people sitting down at tables talking and eating or standing in line waiting to be served food by workers in aprons and hairnets. Unlike Liberty, though the people here were mostly adults dressed in shabby and worn clothing. Depressingly enough, Clay spotted a few kids that looked to be around twelve or ten years old. It was a disheartening sight, seeing so many hungry people gathered in one place.

“Hello. Welcome to Saving Grace. Can I get your name?” said a tall woman with gray hair, walking towards him with a clipboard. Looking at the woman Clay noticed her clothes were in better shape than the rest of the people here. He couldn't decide if she worked here or if she was a volunteer.

Startled, Clay tried to think of a response but all that came out was, "Aaah."

"Don't worry, it's just to keep track of how many people come here. The more people we get the more we can afford to more feed people,” the woman explained in a reassuring tone.

“My name is Clay,” Clay offered, unsure of what to do next. The woman simply smiled as she wrote down his name.

“Excellent, now today we're serving chicken noodle soup so just get in line and we can get you fed.” The woman said, pointing him towards the line before walking away to tend to someone else.

Clay shot an uneasily look in her direction and went to join the line, taking a place behind a woman with ratty blond hair. Standing there Clay noticed that an unpleasant smell was hanging around. Taking a quiet sniff he realized that it came from most of the people here. Embarrassed, Clay bit his lip and instead turned away, focusing on the room, hoping to distract himself. It didn't work. Looking around he noticed that the majority of the people had tired and drawn faces as if they had lost something and resigned themselves to it, leaving them looking tired even while sitting down. Unnerved and left wondering if he looked the same, Clay turned away and stared resolutely forward.

Mercifully for him, the line moved relatively quickly, and his anxiety was cleared away by the smell of warm bread and spicy soup. By the time it was turned to be served Clay had to stop himself from reaching over and trying to grab whatever food he could. Instead of doing that though he settled for grabbing one of the prepared trays with steamed vegetables, two rolls of bread, an apple, silverware, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Clutching his tray he grabbed one of the offered bottles of water and left the serving area to stand off to the side. Feeling like he was back in high school Clay searched amongst the tables of full people for a place to sit.

Spotting a half-empty table in the middle of the room Clay gravitated over towards and sat down a distance from the others already there. Setting the tray down he took in the mouth-watering steam wafting off from the bowl. It had been more than a week since he had eaten anything that wasn’t cold. Carefully stirring the bowl with his spoon Clay was about to take a spoonful when he caught sight of somebody sitting down in front of him.

The newcomer was a short, portly man with broad shoulders that had thinning brown hair and a long, worn face sporting a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken and set incorrectly at some point in the past. From the look of him, he seemed to be in his thirties and was wearing a stained brown wool jacket, denim jeans, and heavy construction boots. Seeing Clay watching him, the man smiled, showing him two rows of yellowish teeth as he settled into his seat. Suddenly the man stretched out his arm and offered his hand in greeting. Surprised, Clay shook it reluctantly.

"Hey kiddo,” said the man, his voice smooth and warm, a complete contrast to appearance. Looking at the man Clay was briefly and strangely reminded of his dad, “My name is Jonas. I'm sort of a permanent fixture around this place and I couldn’t help but notice you when you entered. You're new around here, aren’t you? I mean most people in our situation in Bloomington have already been wintering here for a while or at another soup kitchen. Hey, you seem pretty young, how old are you?

Startled by the sudden deluge of words Clay tried to think of what he should do. The man seemed friendly enough, but he was still a stranger and from what he had seen and been told off by Justin people on the streets tended to keep to themselves. Why was the man being so friendly? Was he trying to get something out of Clay? Evading the question Clay instead replied, “And what do you mean by our situation?” Clay asked, his voice guarded. It was a stupid question to ask given where they were and how they looked but hopefully, it would buy him enough time to give this guy the slip.

The man let out a bark of laughter and gave him an appraising look, “ Homeless, displaced, lost. Take your pick, they're all correct.” Jonas snorted, “Don’t trust me, do you? Can't say I blame you. The street can be a mean place and who knows what sort of person you can run into but you have nothing to worry about from me kid. I'm just trying to make conversation. I love to talk and I've already spoken with all of the people here at one point or another. To me a new face is just someone to talk to,” Jonas explained, trying to reassure him.

Clay evaluated the man in front of him, weighing his options. He could just ignore the man and find somewhere else to eat, but he could use him to get some more information. Besides, it had been days since he had spoken with a friendly face and he was dying to speak with another human being. Hoping this would not come back to bite him in the ass Clay replied, “ My name is Clay, and yes I meant homeless”

Jonas smiled, “Welcome Clay. Hope you enjoy the food. The cooks here are good. So how long have you been on the streets? 

“Uh, about a week.” Clay supplied, seeing no harm in telling him

Jonas frowned, “So you've been out on the streets for a week in the middle of January?”

Clay nodded and calmly began eating his soup, relishing in the taste. The soup was warm and spicy, the noodles and chicken dissipating in his mouth. It melted his insides in a pleasant manner that left him wanting to chug down the rest of it. Clay let out a moan of pleasure as he enjoyed the food and blushed as he remembered he was in company.

Jonas simply smiled but looked at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “No need to be embarrassed. I remember what it was like the first time I had a good, hot meal after going without for a while. I think I sounded worse than you.”

Now it was Clay’s turn to smile.

Jonas continued, “ So how did you end up here? You look pretty young. Are you a runaway?

Smile fading, Clay shot Jonas an irritated glance and instead said, “How long have you been here?

Jonas shrugged as if Clay hadn’t just asked something personal, “A couple of months,” said Jonas, who then gestured around the room, “Same as most everybody else. Life happened and I soon found myself here.”

Seeing his questioning glance Jonas elaborated on his comment, “I used to work as a handyman in the area, but then I got injured pretty badly and had to go on bed rest for a while. Couldn’t pay off the bills so costs piled up and then by the time I was back on my feet I was broke. I hadn’t paid rent for three months so the landlord kicked me out and just couldn’t find a job after that.”

Feeling embarrassed Clay blushed, “Oh. I'm sorry I didn't mean to pry.”

Jonas shook his head, “ Don’t sweat it, kid. It’s pretty much what we all ask each other at some point, and to prove my point I’ll ask you the same. How did you, Clay, end up in the streets. Are you a runaway?”

Clay bit the inside of his mouth as he considered how much he should say. Or honestly, what he should say. Should he lie or tell the truth? It was probably better to give him some mix of the truth. 

“I used to live with my parents,” Clay replied uneasily, hoping it sounded believable, “but then shit happened...and, well…. they were gone.”

What happened next made Clay want to duck his head in shame. Jonas gave him a look filled with such compassion and understanding that it hurt. He felt like an absolute scumbag, lying about being an orphan. Sure, he was stuck in another world without his parents, and he hadn’t out and out said they were dead, and besides the truth would probably land him in a mental asylum. Still, lying like that was too much like a betrayal of his parents, as if he was giving up on overseeing them, and how would they react to that? For the past seven days, he had tried as hard as he could not think about his parents, but now the truth was uncomfortably close to his face. Unless he found a witch, there was no chance of getting back home, and if he didn’t then he didn't know how his parents would deal with losing another son forever.

“I get it, kid. It happens more often than one would think,” Jonas said softly, “sadly, there are a lot of kids around here like you with dead parents.”

Clay simply nodded, looking down at his bowl. Hearing that he suddenly felt worse for lying.

“So how old are you?” asked Jonas, a careful tone in his voice, “Do you have any family? Because let me tell you, winter here is no joke. I get that some family situations are bad and that kids think it's better to be out here rather than where they were, but listen when I say that you can literally die from the cold.”

“I don’t have any family around,” Clay said, shaking his head, “I’m pretty much all alone. And I’m eighteen.”

Jonas sighed, “Great. Well in that case I hope you have a place to hole up. Even in mid-January winter is still pretty fierce, and that's without getting into how dangerous the streets are at night.”

Not sure how to respond to that Clay simply nodded and went back to his food, occasionally making small talk until their conversation picked up. As the two continued talking Clay found himself warming up to the man, appreciating his blunt, straightforward manner. It was very well worth it. For all that Jonas was still a stranger, he was a surprisingly good conversationalist and very well informed. From him, Clay learned when the soup kitchen was open, where one could do laundry cheaply, and even where they could take a shower for free.

“The homeless shelter near here has showers that everyone can use,” Jonas said, “All you have to do is check in with the person that does the intake for the day. After that you can pretty much take a shower whenever you can. They even provide toiletries you need to clean up.”

Hearing that Clay nearly burst into tears. He eagerly accepted and had Jonas write down the address in his notebook. Unfortunately, he forgot about his notes. Flipping open his notebook Jonas furrowed his eyebrows as he took in his research.

“So do you like witches,” Jonas asked as he finished writing down the address and handed him back his notebook.

“An academic curiosity,” Clay said quickly, unsure of how Jonas would react, “I used to be a student at Brown University and was working on a research project on them.

Jonas gave him a look of astonishment, “You were a student at Brown University? Isn't that a fancy school up in Rhode Island? How did you get to Bloomington, Wisconsin?”

“I hitchhiked,” Clay said quickly, “It's a long story.”

“I would love to hear it,” Jonas commented, “sounds like quite a story. As for the witches, I get it. They're fascinating people. My dad actually served in the army and worked with a few.”

“Do you know anything about them,” Clay asked, eager for any real information he could get. 

Jonas frowned, "Not much more than anybody else. Witches tend to be tightlipped about themselves and their Work."

"Work?" Clay asked

"That's what they call what they do," Jonas explained, "Most everybody calls it magic, but the military calls it Work. Magic is appropriate enough for what they do, but it drives some of them crazy when we call it that." 

"Why?" Clay asked, his curiosity piqued.

"They think magic is too frivolous a term for what they do," Jonas said, "though magic makes more sense to me." 

"Could you tell me more," Clay asked, "I mean I'm not in university anymore but I'm still interested in the subject?" 

Jonas shrugged and nodded, and spent the next hour telling him everything he knew. 

His dad had served in the army as support for the witches army and had picked up quite a bit. By the time they finished their food was long gone and Clay realized it was time for him to go.

"Thanks for everything," Clay said gratefully, standing up. Jonas nodded in acknowledgment. "No problem kid. Just stay safe."

With that Clay began the journey back to his basement. It had been a nightmare of a day but overall it had ended well. Now that he had found the soup kitchen he had a reliable source of food and didn't have to worry about starving. He had also met Jonas and found somebody he could talk to. Still, everything was far from fine.

  
  



	5. Chapter 4: Swan Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer Applies 
> 
> Writing this chapter was a bit tricky. I had to do a lot of rewriting but I hope it turns out well. Anyway, constructive criticism and any other comments are welcome. 
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of alcohol abuse and depictions of violence. Tags will be adjusted as needed. I also hope I did well depicting homeless. Its a serious issue that deserves attention with peope who deserve help. Writing it out actually did some research and I hope it played out well. Also, as to the portrayals of mental health I hope I am doing a good job. Any advice is welcome like I said.
> 
> See end notes for references

When he first arrived at the shelter Jonas had pointed him to, Clay wasn't sure what he expected. Maybe a giant warehouse with bunk beds, broken windows, and mice running around? It was unfair of him to think that of a place he had never seen, but homeless shelters didn't exactly lend themselves to pleasant images. Besides, the few shelters he had seen while searching for Justin hadn't exactly been luxury hotels.

Thankfully, in this case, he was wrong. 

From the outside, the Bloomington Rescue Mission looked a little like a rec center: a squat, two-story grey building with frosted glass doors, covered by posters advertising their logo and services. Once he had stepped inside the reception area, Clay had been intercepted by an enthusiastic greeter who pointed him towards the three check-in lines for new arrivals, all of which were swollen with people looking to get out of the cold. After about twenty minutes of waiting, he stood in front of a placid looking woman standing behind a desk shielded by reinforced glass. With a brisk, efficient manner that spoke of experience, she took his name and other personal information and then handed him two small slips of paper and told him to head over towards the line for The Closet, so he could get new clothes.

"What?" Clay asked, taken aback by the offer.

"One of the helpers will explain," the woman said with a gentle smile, and pointed at another line.

Dumbfounded, Clay had simply nodded and did as directed, soon entering a cavernous room filled with clothes, where he handed a heavyset man one of the slips of paper. Taking it, the man informed him he could pick out three shirts and jeans, a jacket, a pair of shoes, and some underwear. 

Holding the clothes in his hands he noticed they all looked relatively brand new. They were soft and clean and just looking at them he couldn't wait to try them on. After more than a week of alternating the same outfit every day and feeling like he was wearing fabric held by grime and sweat, wearing clean clothes again would be a relief. Now he understood how Justin felt whenever they had bought him new clothes.

Stunned, he asked himself quietly, “Why are you giving me clothes?”

The man must have heard the question before, since he responded quickly, “We know that people in your situation often need them”, and directed Clay on to another helper. 

“Thank you.” Clay followed the new helper, who aided him in looking around and picking out what he needed. 

In the end, he had ended up with three new long sleeve shirts and jeans, a thick hoodie, some underwear and socks, a pair of boots like those he had seen at the thrift store.

Leaving the room with his new clothes, Clay was guided to a locker room and handed flip-flops, soap, a shampoo packet, and a towel, so that he could take a shower before being given his sleeping assignment. Needing no further prompting, Clay quickly stowed away his clothes in one of the open lockers and stripped down, wrapping the towel around his waist. Feeling more than a little unnerved, Clay headed towards the showers, looking pointedly away as he saw other men in the process of showering. Stepping into an empty space, Clay quickly turned on the showerhead and sighed as he felt the grime wash away under the steady spray.

The water was warm and a welcome relief, but remembering where he was, Clay quickly cleaned himself and stepped out, heading back to his locker to dry himself. Done with that and in clean clothes once again, he exited the locker room and found a man with a thick mustache holding a clipboard waiting outside. Without fanfare, the man asked for the other slip of paper. Giving it to him, the man slipped it into his pocket and motioned Clay to follow him into another room where he was given a quick explanation as to how things were run here.

He was welcome to stay here more or less indefinitely or until he could find new accommodations. Tomorrow, he was to present himself to the infirmary for a checkup to make sure he wasn't carrying some kind of contagion. There was to be no fighting; if he did, he would be kicked out. Breakfast was at 6:30, lunch at 12:30, and dinner at 6:30. Clay was welcome at mealtimes and to spend the night but was otherwise expected to be out looking for a job. If he did find a job, he would hand over his paycheck to the administration. 10% would be taken for the mission, 20% would be given to him for incidentals, and the rest would be deposited into a savings account for him. 

With that done, Clay was handed a pillow, blanket and bed cover from a locked cabinet and led to a large room with twelve mattresses and six guys about his age. The man then told him to sleep well and that it would be lights out in about an hour. Picking a spot in the corner Clay set his belongings beside him as he set about arranging his sleeping place. Occasionally he would try making small talk with the others. They were nice enough but it was clear nobody wanted to talk. He accepted this and simply lay down on the cot.

One of the men had approached him that night. He had been dark skinned and lanky with serious features. It had been a startling to be honest. "Welcome to 4J, kid. Names Mason."

"Clay," he had responded, not sure of what to say. Mason had simply nodded and pointed at his clothes and bag. "You're gonna go and keep your stuff close. Stealing is against the rules and nobody here steals, but I can't speak for everybody. Just keep an eye on your things and take what you can. Other than that, welcome." Mason turned around and walked away as the others nodded briefly before going back to their business.

The hours passed quickly enough and the lights went out, but sleep was hard that night. The air was filled with snoring, farting, and groaning. More than that though, there was a tense feeling that he couldn't shake off. Maybe it was the fact that he was in a room filled with strangers, or that this was just temporary, but either way something about being here made him strangely anxious, telling him to get ready to leave. After a few tense hours of lying in the dark with eyes wide open though, he eventually managed sleep.

Whatever the case, a week in a homeless shelter was better than spending his nights in an abandoned basement.

Staring at his bowl of chili con carne, Clay wondered if he would ever find a way to get back home. Today was January 20th, which meant that he had been stuck in this world for two weeks now. Fourteen days of mind-numbing research that had left him with absolutely no progress in finding a witch that could send him back home. 

_ "Maybe I should just give up and throw myself at the mercy of the military."  _ Clay thought hopelessly,  _ "Get a job and save enough money for a bus ticket to Fort Salem. Maybe they won't throw me in a mental hospital."  _

Truth be told though, for all that it was a crazy and desperate idea that he would never even consider under normal circumstances, it might well be his only shot at getting back home. After two weeks of him being missing, his parents must be nearly dead with worry. And the thing was that was what his mind kept drifting to. Even dreams made sure he remembered that.

* * *

_ It was never the same every night, but it always seemed to follow a pattern. _

_ Staring up ahead he saw his house. It was exactly as he had last seen it. A neutral colored two story building that seemed to welcome him everytime he saw it. It was strange to think he had wanted to be anywhere but here the last couple of months. _

_ Taking a step forward he began walking up the driveway. The cars were still there, parked, even his parents would normally be working at this time. Glancing over at the front door he began walking towards it and soon found himself in front of the porch. Walking towards the door he looked into the window and resisted the urge to look away when he saw inside.  _

_ Through the glass he saw his parents. His mom was standing, walking around and yelling, her eyes puffy and red. His dad was the couch, face looking down at the ground, his normally clean and well kept appearance wrinkled and disheveled with several days' growth on his face. Looking at he their faces looking exactly as they did the day Justin died; shattered. _

* * *

Hell, with all the nightmares he couldn't get a decent night's sleep because all he kept seeing were the faces of his parents: his mom broken down and sobbing, his dad vacant-eyed and lost. Losing Justin had been a hell that had left them damaged and broken. Losing their eldest months after the fact might as well kill them. At this point, he was willing to try anything. Hell, traveling to the only place he knew he could find witches would certainly beat googling every psychic and mystic within walking distance in Bloomington. 

_ "Wonder how the others are doing," _ Clay thought morosely as he stirred his chili.

Like most other parts of his life after Justin's funeral and his first semester at college, his relationships with friends from high school had taken on an odd pall after it. He had still kept in touch with Tony and Ani somewhat, but their conversations had been odd and stilted and he knew little about their current lives other than that they were doing well in college. The same had extended to his friendships with Alex and Zach, though in the case of the latter that relationship had already been on the rocks since he had crashed Zach's car and left him alone without help. He still texted Charlie on and off. As for Jessica, well, he hadn't heard much from her after the funeral.

_ "They're probably okay,"  _ Clay decided as he lifted out a large chunk of meat from his bowl. It wasn't like they really needed him, especially after all the trouble he caused. Why would they? He nearly ruined everything.

"Are you listening to what I'm saying?" demanded a rather annoyed voice.

Startled, Clay looked up from his bowl of chili to see Jonas shooting him a disgruntled look. "I was listening," Clay said defensively. Jonas raised his eyebrow.

"Really, and what did I say," he challenged.

"You were saying you got a new job- though not really one- unloading deliveries at some store?" Clay hoped that was it.

Jonas huffed and popped another cracker into his mouth loudly. Clay shook his head in exasperation. Much like Justin, Jonas had a habit of chewing noisily, which in turn made him resist the urge to smack the food out of his hand. Letting out a loud sigh, Clay took another spoonful of chili. 

"So have you looked into getting a job yet?" Jonas asked as he finished the last of his crackers.

Clay sighed and shook his head. Ever since he had landed at the shelter, Jonas had been on his back to get a job soon. Honestly, the man was as bad as his mother had been during his freshman year at high school when she had practically drowned him in phone numbers and extracurriculars. He was still better than Millie though. The old woman in charge of helping others get jobs at the shelter was a menace. A coke bottle glasses, bun-haired, grandmotherly menace.

Jonas let out a groan, "Kid, come on, it's been a week since you entered the shelter. I know they let you stay there as long as you want but you need to get a job and start earning money soon enough so you can get a place for yourself. Things change and you need to be prepared in case something happens."

"Oh, believe me, I do," Clay said snarkily. After somehow crossing dimensional barriers he was well aware of how things could change.

Jonas winced and his face softened, making Clay cringe, "Sorry Clay. Look, I know that it's only been a couple of weeks since you lost your parents and that you're pretty much still a teenager. I`m sure this is not how you imagined your life going but you need to pick yourself up and get your life going, as awful as it sounds. Life on the streets is dangerous even if you're settled and I don't want anything to happen to you."

And it was moments like this that made Clay glad he had met Jonas. Since the two had begun eating meals together, the older man had practically taken him under his wing, giving him advice on how to pass the day and what places were dangerous to hang around and offering to an ear whenever he wanted to talk. He was a godsend, and if Clay was being honest he didn't think he'd do as well as he had without him. 

"I know," Clay sighed, and he did. After two weeks with no leads on any witches that could help, he knew he should probably get a job if he wanted any progress. Little as it would be, money would open new possibilities for him, but the prospect still made him feel uneasy. Somehow, it felt as if he was giving up on getting home. 

"Really," Jonas said disbelievingly. Clay did not blame his skepticism. For the week or so he had been avoiding this topic. A sudden one-eighty would be confusing.

"Yes," Clay said, "I just wanted to look into a few things and if I don't find anything. I'll talk to Millie about looking for a job." And wouldn't that menacing old lady be happy to hear him say that?

"Oh, well, okay," Jonas said nodding, then after a moment, "So, are you still doing your research on witches?"

Clay shrugged, not wishing to talk about it, "Trying to. In any case, there doesn't seem to be a lot about them anywhere on the internet or in books."

"Yeah, I imagine so." Jonas replied, "as I said, witches tend to be tight-lipped about their stuff."

"Ugh," Clay grunte. in disgust. At the rate he was going, he was never gonna find a way home. "It's just so annoying. They're a part of the military. Why isn't there more on them?"

"That's just the way it is Clay," Jonas said, sounding tired, "the witches have never really much cared to share anything with us civilians." 

Clay rubbed his forehead between his fingers. "Any word from your last job interview?" He didn't want to be reminded of how poorly his search was going. Better to change the topic.

Jonas shook his head. "Zilch. The interview seemed to go well enough but I haven't heard anything. "

Clay remembered when Jonas had arrived at the soup kitchen early for breakfast wearing clean greys slacks and a white dress shirt. To his surprise, the shelter also helped the people there find jobs when they could, and even lent them clean clothes so that they would have a better chance of getting a job during the interview. Sadly, even though Jonas had had three other interviews in the last week, he hadn't gotten any of the jobs. It was depressing, to say the least.

Jonas continued. "I'm gonna head up to that corner on Lanely Street," Jonas said as he stood up, "I haven't been there in a while so maybe I might get lucky and get some money since they haven't had a chance to get used to me." 

Clay snorted. The sad fact was, if people had a chance to get used to you, then the better they got at ignoring you.

"By the way," Clay said suddenly, remembering he hadn't thanked Jonas, "I never said thanks for pointing me towards the shelter. It really helped." It truly had, especially with the sudden cold fronts.

Jonas nodded, "Don't sweat it kid. I just did what I wished somebody had done for me when I fell on the streets."

"Well thank you anyway," Clay said earnestly, "I didn't actually expect it to be that nice."

Jonas let out a strained smile, "Yeah. A lot of shelters aren't. Some are just warehouses. Thank Jesus the Rescue Mission isn't."

Clay didn't know what to say to that. The Bloomington Rescue Mission was great, but just by looking you could it had its issues, like the worn walls or stains on the floor or creaky heating. It was sad to think that it was one of the better ones. They fell into an awkward silence after that.

"Great," Jonas declared, slurping the last of his food. This time Clay didn't hesitate to make a face. Slurping was just a really annoying sound.

"Anyway, I'll be up at Lanely for a few hours and see how much money I can scrounge up," Jonas said as he stood up. 

"Good luck," Clay called at Jonas’ retreating figure.

Knowing that Jonas was heading to beg, and him being so casual about it, nearly made Clay blanch. It wasn’t because he opposed the idea of begging. He knew that begging was the way a lot of the people at the shelter and the soup kitchen got money to help care for their needs that way. He had considered it a few times, but somehow thinking of Jonas doing so made him feel especially uncomfortable. Maybe it was because since arriving here Jonas was the closest thing he had to a friend. 

Left by himself, Clay finished the last of his chili and let out a contented sigh. He had never expected the food from a soup kitchen to be so good. Standing up, Clay deposited his tray by the return table. Picking up his satchel, he exited the soup kitchen and turned in the direction of the library.

Despite how things had ended and however much Clay resented the library for kicking him out, the fact was that he still needed to do research. After he had gotten cleaned up he had returned four days ago. It had been unnerving walking back into the library. Wherever he walked, he kept waiting for somebody to stop him and yell at him. Thankfully it never happened. Neither the patrons nor the employees paid him a second glance.

Soon enough, Clay arrived at the library. Passing the statue of Savannah Bellweather, he stood in front of the door. Steeling himself, Clay entered the library and took a cautious look around. The library had its usual amount of people milling about, checking out books. Berating himself for being paranoid, Clay stepped forward and headed towards the computers. Hopefully, he would be able to find something today.

Asking the woman at the front desk if he could use the computers, she directed him towards computer ten. 

Taking a seat at the computer, Clay pulled up Google and stared blankly at the screen. He could spend his hour trying to see if he could find any more information on whatever witches could be around the city, but if he was being honest, the odds of finding anything new were slim. He had tried every possible combination of words he could think of to get a result and come up with nothing. At this point, he was sure that he had found everything he would be able to find about witches.

Clay groaned and laid his head down, “What the hell am I going to do?” he wondered.

Staring at the screen glumly, Clay thought back to that hallucination of Bryce. In the week that had passed he hadn't seen hide or tail of him. It was probably a good thing, but somehow he doubted it. He remembered what Bryce had told him, about how he had slipped and how that was why he had been able to appear.

Bryce was right. Since going to Brown he had been slipping. The first couple of months had been okay, but at some point, things had changed. Somewhere along the way he had caved in and started drinking and making other dumb choices. Choices he wasn't very proud of.

At first, it had only been a little, but then he had found himself downing a few beers every other night. He had even blacked out a few times and woken up with no memory of what had happened. It was a dangerous pattern, but he hadn't quite gotten to the point where he needed a beer. Still, it was a perilous path to walk, and his few acquaintances in college hadn't helped.

He could have spoken about it with Dr. Elman and his parents, but something had always stopped him. How could he look them in the eye and tell them that he wasn't sure if he was drinking too much? After everything they had gone through with Justin, how could he do this to them? In any case, all this was becoming a cycle and he soon found himself drinking again, trying to get rid of his doubts and fear and shame. And the scary thing was he didn't really know how to break it.

" _ At least they don't know about the other things, _ ” whispered a treacherous voice inside of him, making him stare down at the keyboard. If his parents ever found out about that, he wasn't sure how he could even speak to them. Determined not to dwell on it, Clay pulled up another webpage on witches. Hopefully, this one would be of use.

* * *

As he finished the volume detailing the ridiculously short affair that was the American Revolution, Clay realized that he wasn't sure what time it was. Setting the book aside Clay stood and stretched a bit, wincing as he heard his bones pop. Aside from the final, this was perhaps the longest he had spent in one position.  _ "Wonder if I passed?" _ Clay thought to himself as he placed the book in the return cart. Given how things had played out before winter break he had avoided checking his grades online.

Picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, Clay walked towards the computer and shook the mouse. As the screen lit up, Clay glanced at the bottom right corner. It read 7:30 PM. 

"Well, fuck." Clay muttered under his breath, along with a few other curse words. This was bad. The shelter shut their doors by eight. Unless he took a bus, there was no way he was getting there before they closed for the day. Clutching the mouse in his hands he desperately resisted the urge to smash it.

"Shit, shit, shit," Clay hissed as he stepped away from the computer. This was bad. This was absolutely, completely bad. What was he supposed to do for the night? Freeze to death? 

Pacing around back and forth between the bookshelves, Clay racked his brain for a good five minutes before the solution came to him. He could go back to the basement. Sure, he hadn't been there since he left it for the shelters, but he should still be able to slip in through the broken window. It would be a cold and miserable night but he would be safe from the worst of the weather. He would survive.

Mind made up, Clay quickly exited the library and began walking in the direction of the basement. It had been days since he had last walked in this direction but fortunately, he still remembered the way. Though that still didn't stop him from feeling a little worried as he walked across town with only the lamp posts for light. 

As he walked across Bloomington in the dark Clay remembered that this wasn't the first time he had been out and about in the dark. Even before arriving in Bloomington. He had done so more than a dozen times back during high school; probably even more often than that if he counted the times he didn't remember. Still, it didn't stop him from missing the comforting light of his phone. 

In an attempt to distract himself Clay began humming the national anthem, trying to ignore the ominous feel of the dark. It worked well enough. Though it had taken him more than an hour or so he had passed the diner and as the street became more and more familiar, Clay began to feel a little more confident despite his situation. Just a few more blocks and he would soon find shelter.

Not wanting to waste any more time outside, Clay began speed walking and soon himself within sight of the building. Letting out a sigh of relief he sprinted and found himself standing before the alley. Smiling at the sight, Clay began lifting his foot before stopping as he heard the soft scrape of soles against concrete. It was soon followed by a subtle click and swish.

Startled, Clay began to look around before a hand clamped tightly against his mouth and felt the cold feel of steel pressed against his throat. The hand dragged him back roughly until he was right next to another body. His voice stolen by fear Clay could do nothing but breathe and inhale the scent of aftershave. Was he about to get mugged?

"I wouldn't move if I were you," said a husky, dry voice, "with the knife so close I might slip and cut you." As if to emphasize this, his captor felt the knife press more firmly against his throat, the edge dragging slightly. It was a small movement, but it served to reinforce how vulnerable he was. One wrong move and the blade would dig into the soft flesh of his throat.

Clay stood stock still and shivered, the terror driving away all the warmth from his body. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was just walking back to the basement. Like he'd done so a dozen times.

"So I've noticed you walking around here a couple of times." Hearing the voice speak again, Clay realized it was a man. "Skulking around like a filthy rat, nesting in the trash. Polluting the place." The man's voice became harder, now filled with disgust. "Not that you will anymore now that I have you. Now, how about you do something useful for once in your life and do what I say. Maybe I'll be in a good mood and get rid of you quickly." With a firm shove against his back Clay obeyed and began slowly walking into the alley, the man's hand still firmly taking a hold of him.

"Dozens like you running around eating and taking everything," the man snarled softly, "like vermin. Once I'm done with you, though, there will be one less."

At that moment, Clay couldn’t think of anything. In a few minutes, he was gonna be dead. If he was lucky, he'd be found in the morning. If not, then he would simply vanish from the world without a trace.

"I remember seeing you walking around the city all day and then scurrying back to your den at night," the man continued, the warmth of his breath like the crawling of something small and disgusting, "it was sickening. I couldn't wait to get rid of you, but then you disappeared one day and I couldn't. I was so angry but I couldn't do anything other than to go get rid of other vermin like you. Still, I couldn't help but look for you, so I would come to this neighborhood and wait. It was so boring, but it paid off."

Walking into the alley, Clay couldn’t help but hate that this would be how it would end. After everything he had gone through, he couldn't just die in a strange world. He wanted to see his family and friends again. He wanted to talk to them and say he was sorry. He wanted to be back home.

_ "Then fight back,"  _ a steely voice whispered in the back of his head,  _ "you can either fight back and die or die without doing anything. " _

The voice was right. The man just had a knife at his throat. He hadn't taken a hold of his arms. He could try and fight back and see if he could run away.

_ "But he could still slit my throat,"  _ Clay thought, feeling sweat drip down his neck, " _ I could still die." _

_ "But you'll still die if you do nothing." _

Mind made up, Clay took a deep breath through his nose, and thought back to all the times he had been angry and hateful. Hannah’s Tapes, Ani sleeping with Bryce, his mother accusing him of murder. Gritting his teeth and hoping he wouldn't die, Clay swiftly lifted his arm and thrust his elbow as hard as he could into the man's side. Instantly the man released him, letting out a slew of curse words.

"You fucking bastard!!!"

Acting on instinct, Clay thrust himself forwards and began running, trying hard not to slip as he adjusted to the shift in balance. 

Sadly, he only got a few feet forwards before he found himself yanked back. Before he could scream he was thrown against a wall, the breath knocked out of him. Panting, Clay saw the face of his assailant, eyes wide with hate and teeth bared to show pearly white canines.

"Little bastard, think you can get away from me!" The man hissed, holding the knife towards him.

Wasting no time with a reply, Clay launched himself forward and tackled the man. They hit the ground with a thud and the sound of a crack. They rolled around on the ground for a bit before the man regained his bearing enough to use the knife. With furious energy, Clay grabbed both of the man's wrists, stopping him as he thrust it towards him. It was not enough.

The man was heavier than him and well-muscled as well. It was only his surprise and his quick reflexes that allowed Clay to get the upper hand but that slight advantage was soon fading. His arms wavered at the man's strength, the blade inching forwards. Reaching desperately for any strength, Clay could only watch as the steel came closer.

"Now you die." The man hissed.

Without warning the arms gave out and the blade sank forward, tearing his skin.

At that moment Clay felt something shift. Out of nowhere, he felt something hot and quick rush through his body, breathing life into his body. The world around him became sharper and clearer, the sounds separate and distinct and somehow tangible. Opening his mouth, the words that came out weren't ragged and desperate like he expected, but rich and full like they had never been before, as if carrying new weight.

" **_GET OFF ME!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!"_ **

Instantly the man on top of him stopped, his face confused and smoothed, all hatred and rage now gone. Slowly, almost hesitantly, the man began standing up, the weight of him lifting itself away. Confused and unsure, Clay released the man's wrists and watched as he stood up, a consternated expression on his face. The man then turned and began walking away.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.businessinsider.com/sleepingin-a-homeless-shelter-2012-1


	6. Chapter 5: Two Weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer Applies
> 
> Sorry for the long wait. 
> 
> Constructive Criticism Welcome
> 
> Warning: Mentions of gore and anxiety
> 
> The Japanese came from google translate so sorry for any error. I thought use of Japanese would work well

For centuries, Matsubara family had survived in Japan, hiding out in the countryside like most witches did in those days. The family had eked out a living working as apothecaries for whoever could afford it, brewing remedies and tinctures that had gained them renown and goodwill from their neighbors - a valuable commodity few of their people enjoyed. It was not gold to pay taxes or food in their bellies, but it had been enough to buy them a relatively peaceful existence, if only as glorified beggars on the margins of society. The toxic influence of the Church had never taken much root in the then secluded island nation, but few were those who dealt with witches openly, and any measure of safety that kept away the mobs was well worth parting with medicines whose worth was far more than what they charged. Far too many were the tales of stolen babies and demonic presences whispered at night to children for witches to ever be truly accepted, even in a place where many followed the old ways.

Still, it was a better situation than that of most of their kin, and as such they accepted their lot in life. Reviled and shunned they might have been, but they were ignored and left alone. What did it matter that the villagers whispered whenever they entered the market to buy supplies? Or that the patients they saved would never look them straight in the eye, though they would cry and thank them for their work behind closed doors? It was a better fate than most witches found.

Then came word of Sarah Alder and her nascent witch army, and how they had crushed the British army in a single afternoon, sending the world ablaze with talk and intrigue at such a victory. It was a shockwave felt across the world. Britain was a powerful nation, used to grinding their foes into dust as they walked; never before had Britain faced such a defeat, but never had they faced a witch on the battlefield. Suddenly, the gaze of the world on their kind lost some of its fear and hate and instead turned appraising. Within a few short decades, Japan and the other nations of the world realized the same as America had; that the power that rested in the voice of a witch could destroy one's enemy. With that in mind, the Emperor sent envoys to the scattered witch communities of their nation. They brought with them the promise of a place in the world, of safety and food and a home. If they joined the Emperor's armies, that is. 

Their people flocked to the armies like moths to flame, swearing to protect the people that had once hated them; it did not matter to them that it would be a lifetime of safety spent in service till death.

Still some declined. Safety could not replace the freedom they would lose should they join. Yet it did not matter. For the Son of Heaven, the agreement of a few was agreement from all. By Imperial decree all witches were to present themselves to the capital for training in the martial arts; failure to do so would result in death. 

The Matsubara declined this offer and ran instead. Yet Japan was only so large and it was only time before no safe place remained in the Land of the Rising Sun. Exile was the only option. 

In wisdom or in foolishness Matsubara Rin gathered her clan and left the island, heading east to hide in the lion's den. Many had been shocked at the idea and protested. How was the land where the danger had first begun any better than their own? Rin had explained that dozens were pouring into the newly founded nation. What difference would a few more, even if Japanese, make. It took much to convince the clan but in the end they all agreed. They would all leave for America.

And so it seemed Rin was right. They were an unwelcome presence in this land of  _ gaijin _ , but they were ignored, and nobody knew they were witches. Still, it was a hard life, filled with the old hate and disdain they had known, but this time directed at their eyes and culture and queer looks. They adapted; it was nothing new. Like before they made a living as apothecaries. It worked spectacularly and within a few years, despite much hardship, they had amassed enough wealth to buy a proper shop in the cold isolated north; The Silver Bloom. 

And so they lived there in hiding for many years, the shop passing through the family over the years, wary of the Army catching on and capturing them. 

It was not enough.

* * *

_ "It's too early to deal with this,"  _ Seina thought as she watched the last customer leave the store.

It had been a long day, minding the counter and watching the usual clientele come around to pick up their orders, along with a smattering of browsers looking to try homeopathic remedies. It was uneventful, all in all, but still far too long for her liking. Normally, she liked the store, with its simple decor of white walls, carved shelves, elegant glass jars and the pungent smell of herbs, but today she couldn't wait to get off work and lie down in her bed. After spending the last two days forging fake IDs and coordinating supply runs, she was ready to spend a week asleep. 

Standing up, Seina began closing the store; locking the door, putting the cash away and lowering the bars to cover the windows. It was a routine she had been doing so long she could probably do it blind. When everything was in its place and done, Seina shut the light off and opened the door leading upstairs to the apartment, climbing up the scuffed stairs until she reached the door. Her bed was calling her, though the feeling vanished as she opened the door.

Greeting her was the sight of  _ Obaa- _ sama and her best friend Eric sitting across from each, a look of concern on both their faces. Seina frowned at the sight. Normally Eric was too afraid of Obaa-sama to actually speak with her even though the two had known each other for years. What could the both of them be up to?

Spotting her granddaughter,  _ Obaa-sama _ cast a sharp look at her. “Seina.” Obaa-sama said sharply, “Sit down. There is something I must discuss with you.” 

At 72  _ Obaa-sama  _ was 5’ even, with graying black hair, gray-blue eyes and a regal face with aristocratic features. She was a beautiful woman that had age gracefully, though that was probably because aging had been too scared to so much as touch her. Only the cane besides her betrayed her age. Though that was more of a discipline tool then a walking aid.

As to her nature, well, her face conveyed exactly what she was; a stern, intelligent woman with no time for nonsense who might well have been better off ruling a country than a shop and her kin. However, that was not the case, and so she had instead settled for raising and training her daughter and granddaughter while running a successful apothecary. An impressive achievement for a woman widowed at a young age in less forgiving times. That she was also a martial arts expert and brewer of poisons was just the cherry on top.

“I take it this isn’t about me coming home late last night?” Seina asked rhetorically as she sat down, wary of what  _ Obaa-sama _ would say. Had she found out about Michael?

_ Obaa-sama _ snorted. “Your dalliance with your civilian boyfriend is of no concern to.me.”

Seina narrowed her eyes at Eric who held up his hands surrender. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t say anything. Your grandmother just texted me to be here.”

She had known Eric since they were both 16, when he came stumbling into their house as a gangly and awkward teenager looking to dodge the draft. However, instead of drifting away like all the other dodgers, he had stayed, fitting seamlessly into their daily lives and filling a void she never knew existed. Even mother and  _ Obaa-sama _ liked him, even if the latter kept frightening free labor out of him. Now, at 24 years old, Eric had filled out, growing to be 5'9 and developing some muscles. He was rather handsome, but his kind and dorky personality, as well as their years together, had made him the brother she never knew she wanted.

Seina shot  _ Obaa-sama  _ an incredulous look. “You know how to use a cell phone?” For the better part of two decades her grandmother had stubbornly refused to acknowledge modern methods of communications, preferring instead her messenger birds and scry. And where the hell had she even gotten a phone?

_ Obaa-sama _ sneered. “I’m old, not stupid. Besides I needed both of you here quickly and this one,” Obaa-sama jerked her head in Eric’s direction, “doesn’t carry a scry. Now sit down. We have much to discuss.”

Confused, Seina took a seat and shot Eric a look asking ' _ What the hell _ ’? Eric simply shook his head. From the stains on his shirt and smell of fish, he had come straight from his job waiting tables.

"Something has happened,"  _ Obaa-sama _ declared as she grasped her cane. "During my time scrying, I detected a disturbance."

Seina looked at  _ Obaa-sama  _ and wondered if she had been dipping into their supply of weed. Why was she being so dramatic? Had she spotted something while scrying? Was there Work being done? Was the military unto them?

Suddenly, Seina yelped, as she felt something hit her leg hard. Without her noticing, her grandmother had whipped her cane around her calf. Even at her age her grandmother was swifter than many women half her age. Beside her, she felt Eric stiffen in fear. 

"I'm old, girl. I've earned the right to be dramatic."  _ Obaa-sama  _ snapped, "I am speaking of Work. Powerful one at that." 

"Is it the Army?" Eric asked fearfully, the color draining from his face. Even after everything they had done, the mention of the army never failed to scare him. Then again, he had never formally joined the Labyrinth like her and her family. It didn't matter that aiding the Labyrinth was the same as joining in the eyes of the law.

_ Obaa-sama  _ shook her head, an uncertain look on her face, making Seina nervous. Her grandmother was never uncertain. She always knew exactly what to do. "No, this is old Work. Ancient. From the time before the Burning Times." 

Instantly Seina stiffened.  _ Obaa-sama  _ had raised both her and her mother on the old stories. Stories of witches like Hecate and Isis. Those with powers that would make any modern day witch tremble. 

"What do you want us to do?" asked Seina quietly. She didn't exactly believe the old stories but she did believe her grandmother. Whatever was happening, something was going on. Still, everything sounded too vague to make any proper plans.

_ Obaa-sama  _ was silent for a second before answering.

"I'll need the both of you to look around the city,"  _ Obaa-sama  _ said finally, a nervous note entering her voice, "I do not know what has come, but we must be prepared."

"And what if whatever you sensed is dangerous?" Seina demanded.  _ Obaa-sama  _ was being suspicious. She could understand her grandmother asking her, but why rope Eric into this? He wasn't even trained, not properly anyway. This sounded like a job for somebody more qualified. Like her mom or any of the senior members of the Labyrinth, "It's not exactly like we're equipped to handle this. Shouldn't the Labyrinth deal with this? As a matter of fact, does mother know about this? Shouldn't she be aware in case whatever you sensed threatens the Labyrinth?” 

_ Obaa-sama  _ shook her head, an uncharacteristic weary look settling on her. "No. The time is not right. Besides, your mother is busy managing the Midwest. There is no point in bothering her over something so vague….there is a chance I might be wrong and distract her unnecessarily."  _ Obaa-sama _ said those last words like they physically pained her. And they probably did. Her grandmother was not one to admit she was wrong. The fact that she did so now surprised Seina.

"In any case, I don't think you will be in any danger,"  _ Obaa-sama  _ added, her normal stern voice returning, "There was nothing malicious about the disturbance." 

Seina hesitated.  _ Obaa-sama  _ was a very,  _ very _ forthright person, and a rather competent seer. Chances were she was right about there being some anomaly in Bloomington, though how significant it might be was up for debate. But still, the thought of chasing something unknown made her uneasy. 

"Alright," Seina agreed reluctantly. It might be nothing. And besides,  _ Obaa-sama  _ was right. Mother had mentioned how tense and busy things were getting these days, especially with the Spree on the prowl. It might just be better to deal with this in house, and besides, Eric was a very competent witch for all that he hardly knew anything about offensive Work. They would hardly be defenseless.

"Where do we look?" Eric asked, looking visibly uncomfortable, but nonetheless determined. It was a big change from before when he would flinch every time  _ Obaa-sama  _ looked at him. At least Seina knew she could count on him to help out with this mess.

"Everywhere you can. Whatever the anomaly is we must find out what is and deal with it, be it a boon or curse,"  _ Obaa-sama  _ stated calmly, pulling out a folded map from her purse and laying it on the coffee table.

"You can't be serious," Seina asked disbelievingly, "I mean I thought you were kidding when you were saying to search the city, but no. You do realize Bloomington is a big city, right?" 

"Besides," Eric interjected bravely, "We're busy with work and everything. I need to pay my bills." 

_ Obaa-sama  _ gave them a withering look. "I am aware of what I am asking. However, whatever has happened must be investigated and found. That much I do know. This is important."

Seeing their looks,  _ Obaa-sama _ continued, "But in any case, I am aware we can't realistically search every inch of the city. The two of you will only be searching for three weeks. If nothing is found by then the search will be off." 

Eric and her exchanged dubious looks. Did they really have to do this? Looking back at  _ Obaa-sama  _ Seina saw nothing but steely resolve her eyes. She was clearly not giving up on this.

" _ There goes my sleep,"  _ Seina thought as both she and Eric nodded.

And so Eric and her spent the next two weeks scouring the streets of Bloomington looking for this anomaly.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

Sometimes, Seina really hated her life.

Now, as a general rule, her life was complicated. One only had to refer to her association with the Labyrinth and her grandmother to know that. In any case though, it was something she had accepted more than a decade ago without too many complaints. There was little to be done to change that, and as such, she learned to adapt, which often meant waking up at the beginning of dawn to brew remedies and training till she felt like dropping. That was why she hadn’t complained that much when her grandmother had barged into her and Eric's lives and all but ordered them to scour Bloomington in search of an “anomaly”. However, she drew a hard line on having to perform a citizen’s arrest on a murderer at the corner of 78th and South Creek.

It was her turn to be searching the city and Seina had just finished canvassing half of the neighborhood when she spotted him ambling around aimlessly. It was an unsettling sight. The man was tall and well muscled with firm features and grey eyes that looked to be in his late twenties - the kind of guy she would probably flirt with had she run into him at a club and expect to work an office job. He wasn’t the guy you expected to find walking around in the middle of the night with a ski mask bunched up in one hand and a bloodstained knife in the other. 

A normal reaction would have been to either run away screaming or to call the police. That would have been the rational thing, the sensible thing. It was just what any normal, sane 24 year old woman would do. Seina wondered what it said about her that she did neither of those things and instead began approaching him. Half of her friends would probably call her crazy, and probably be right.

In her defence, though, Seina wasn’t the average everyday woman. That half of her friends didn’t know that she had spent ten years mastering two different forms of martial arts. Or that she had spent nearly twice that long concocting deadly poisons under the threat of sandal by  _ Obaa-sama.  _ And they especially didn’t know that she could fling 200 pound man across the street with a flick of her hand.

The other half would probably have said she should have carried a blade that gave her a longer reach. 

Slipping her scry from her pocket, Seina made sure to scan the area around him by singing the seed of revealing. With Eric’s amulet in her coat pocket, there was no chance of anybody seeing her, but it never hurt to be careful. She would hardly be the first witch caught and arrested by the military police while using Work. Also,  _ Obaa-sama  _ and her mother would kill her if she didn’t

Detecting nothing, Seina placed the scry back in her pocket and carefully slid her knife from her sleeve. Softly singing another song she found herself next to the man, his movements a fraction of their speed. Narrowing her eyes, Seina frowned as she noted his unfocused eyes and lack of attention. Even at this speed most humans would register the disturbance of air around them. Reluctantly, she stretched out her hand to touch his temple and linked 

Seina nearly wretched as she glimpsed his mind. It was a horrible thing, possessed of hate and disgust. Almost immediately her mind was inundated with spilled blood and screams of pain. The worst though was the sense of pleasure and satisfaction, the flashes of calculation.

_ "I can't do this,"  _ Seina thought weakly, trying very hard not to run away. Over the years she had had to do a lot of awful things she did not want to do, but this was too much. So far the link was just showing glimpses of memories and feelings. If she pushed anymore, she would see things she would really regret. Things that would give her nightmares for years if she dared to look any further.

The sick fuck in front of her was a monster. What she had learned so far was enough to make sure of that. All she had to do now was place a compulsion in the bastard's head and make him head to the nearest police station so he could turn himself in. Then she could go home and scrub herself down with a steel loofa.

_ "But there's fresh blood on the blade,"  _ Seina thought as she looked over the man's weapon, " _ that means he killed recently."  _ It was enough to make her pause. Should she go and investigate further? The compulsion would take care of everything.

_ "And what if he overcomes the compulsion?" Obaa-sama's  _ voice said in a scathing manner. Seina winced. When  _ Obaa-sama  _ and her mother had first begun teaching her on the use of Work they had emphasized the risk and limitations of it, and now she'd almost forgotten their lectures on compulsions. That if a person had a strong enough mind they could throw it off. 

Biting her lower lip, Seina began to feel uncomfortable as she realized how long she'd been dragging this out. The street was empty still and linked as she was with the man she had managed to stop and entrance him while keeping out of his line of sight. There was no risk of him seeing her and later recognizing her, but every moment she spent standing out in the open increased the risk of somebody seeing her, despite the amulet. Whatever she planned to do, she had to do it soon.

_ "Damn it,"  _ Seina thought angrily as realized what she had to do. She would just have to place a compulsion and hoped it worked out. It matter that she was practically broadcasting the fact that an unaffiliated witch was walking the streets with no military leadg. She had to make sure the fucking bastard was behind bars. That was what  _ Obaa-sama  _ and mother would have done. It was she had to do so she could sleep at night and not wonder if somebody would still be here in the world the next day.

Steeling herself, Seina began carefully probing his mind. She would send him to the police and make him confess. Then she would find the body and report anonymously so the cops would have the evidence to try him in case the confession wasn't enough. Afterwards, she would keep an eye on the news to make sure he stayed with them behind bars.

Mindful of not straying any further then she wanted, Seina pushed away her anxiety and fear and began examining the memories carefully.

_ The world became narrow. She was tired and annoyed. It had been days since she had last hunted. Tamping down a growl he walked down the street when she spotted him. _

_ It was a boy. Probably eighteen and technically an adult, but still a boy. She knew him. She had been stalking him before he disappeared. She had been enraged by that and had to kill one of the vermin nearby to get over it. _

_ Excited at the prospect, she began following him. The boy was quick but she followed until he stopped at the alley he always vanished at before he hid away. This time she was not gonna lose him. Quickly and carefully she rushed forward and covered his mouth so he wouldn't scream. _

_ Sliding the knife against his throat, she feels pleasure as the boy becomes paralyzed with fear. The boy says nothing and she relishes the chance to get rid of some more useless waste. She had been so angry the night the little rat had slipped from his fingers. _

_ Everything was going so well, the rush was almost as good as the first time, and then she felt the boy's elbow strike her stomach.  _

_ She lets go and snarls. The boy is running away. Furious she rushed forward and grabbed hold of him fast. She's going to make him pay.  _

_ Instead of giving in the boy tackles her. The both of them fall to the ground. Enraged, she tries desperately to stab him and have all this be done. But the boy is strong and he fights hard. Still, he is weakening and her blade is soon above him. She smiles. _

  
  


_ She feels the boy's arms give out. The blade sinks and pierces his flesh. Finally. She grips the blade and begins to move her arm when she stops. Somethings wrong. Looking down she sees the boy open his. Is he gonna scream? She bit back a snarl and prepared to finish this but stopped as she heard his voice. _

" **_GET OFF ME!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!"_ **

  
  


_ Everything changes in that moment. She wants to kill him. She wants to end his life. But she stops. She doesn't know what to do. She can't stay. She has to leave. It doesn't make sense. She can't think. She can't stop. What is wrong with him." _

Seina gasped as she left his memories.  _ "Fucking damnit,"  _ Seina though as ran her hand through her hair. Was this what  _ Obaa-sama  _ had sent her out to look for? Another witch? 

_"Is he even still alive?!"_ Seina thought as she threw her original plan out the window. The memories were recent, and the blood was still fresh. The boy could still be alive. All the memories had shown her was that the boy had compelled the man away after he'd been stabbed. If that was the case she had to hurry before it was too late. 

Concentrating all her will and pulling up every iota of power she had, Seina stepped close to the man's ear. With any luck the compulsion would cover everything. Giving herself a chance to relax before speaking, Seina let out a breath and let the commands flow. 

**_"You will head to the nearest police station and turn yourself in. You will tell them about all the people you killed. You will tell the cops all the details of your murders and tell them what you did with the bodies. You will not tell them about the boy you attacked tonight whatsoever. You will forget everything about him and what he did and what happened to him. You will forget about me and my voice. You will never think about this night at all."_ **

Satisfied by the instructions, Seina stepped back and watched as confusion cleared from the man's face, replaced instead by a determined look. Without so much as glancing at her the man walked away, making Seina heave a sigh of relief. The man hadn't shown any sign of having noticed her. Good.

With that bit of business done Seina began running as fast she could. Thankfully, the memories had been clear enough that she was easily able to retrace the man's steps. Still, it took far too long for to arrive within sight of the building she had seen in the man's memories. Pushing herself, Seina covered the remaining distance quickly and stepped into the alley and immediately saw the boy from the man's memories, a dark stain surrounding a tear on his clothes.

Remembering she was dealing with a stab wound Seina recalled her first aid lessons and knelt down on the ground, placing her hands on the boy's throat. Closing her eyes, Seina leaned into the rhythm of the boy's body, steadying his heartbeat and slowing his blood flow. Once the boy had stabilized somewhat Seina let her power spread across his body, taking note of his injury with her senses. It wasn't a large wound, thank the Goddess, or otherwise she might not have been able to do much about. However, it had struck his side and sheared through the muscle and fat, and if the boy had been conscious he would have been howling in pain. 

Taking a calming breath Seina flooded the wound with her power and gently began healing it. With each heartbeat and gentle breath, she used her power to begin coaxing the flesh into knitting itself back together. It was slow and taxing Work, but eventually the cellular processes kicked in, taking in her power to accelerate cell replication. Humming softly, Seina maintained the process until she felt the work was done. Lifting up the boys shirt all she saw was new scar tissue.

It wasn't pretty, but it would do. 

Unlinking herself Seina slumped as she felt the energy drain hit. Between the healing and the other pieces of Work she'd done tonight she had expended far more energy then she was comfortable with. Right now, all she wanted to do was hit the bed and sleep for hours. Still, she held off and pulled out her phone and quickly dialled the first number in her contact list. 

_ "Hey Seina, what's up"  _

"I need you to get to East 72nd street and come pick me up as quickly as you can," Seina said without preamble. Hopefully Eric would be here soon.

_ "So I'm guessing you found the anomaly your grandmother ordered us to find?"  _

_ " _ I have an unconscious teenager lying in a pool of blood," Seina deadpanned; there was no time for explanations.

_ "What are you talking about?! You're kidding right?! The anomaly we have been scouring the whole city for cannot be a teenager!" _

"Nope," Seina said, trying not to sound impatient, "Can you just get here ?!" She failed.

_ "Geez. Don't worry Sei-sei. Already in my truck. I'll be there in 20 minutes tops."  _

It was still 20 minutes too long, but she accepted it and said, "See you then", promptly hanging up afterwards.

"He better make it bt then," Seina muttered as she put away her phone. After two weeks of nothing, she hadn't expected to find anything tonight. Especially not a serial killer and an unconscious male witch in her hands. Rubbing her forehead with both hands Seina wished Eric was already here. Right now everything was up in the air and could fall down at any minute. In fact, she could already picture the police swooping out the dark and finding her with a teenager lying in his own blood. Or worse, the military police picking up on the highly unauthorized amount of Work being used.

_ "And wouldn't it be a coup for the military to arrest the daughter of one of the leaders of the Labyrinth,"  _ Seina thought glumly. Those war dogs would be delighted. Hell, they might even thank her. With all the bad press the military was getting lately they desperately needed a win.

Pushing the thought away Seina glanced down at the reenager. The boy was rather skinny and moderately tall with anemic white skin that had a gaunt look going on, though he seemed somewhat handsome. His clothes had a worn look. Overall though, he just looked rather tired. He looked to be on the older end of the spectrum, eighteen or thereabouts; probably old enough to say the words.

_ "Is he a draft dodger?"  _ Seina wondered as she continued looking at the boy. It would make sense, considering how poorly he looked and dressed. Most who avoided conscription tended to end up on the streets running and looking like he did. Not much option since the military kept close tabs on the witch population.

"Kid looks like shit," Seina commented as she wondered how he ended up like this. Looking at the scene around her it all looked like it had come from one of those crime shows on TV. How exactly had this boy ended up like this? This was no way for one of the blood to end up as.

_ "I should probably clean up the blood,"  _ Seina thought quietly, her own thought reminding her she was kneeling next to a pool of said blood. Leaving the knife behind had been one thing. The police would need it for evidence and there was no way they would know any of the victims would be a witch. They wouldn't check what kind of blood it was. A pool of blood on the other hand would attract too much attention, and things were bad enough as it was. 

_ "I am definitely going regret this tomorrow,"  _ Seina sighed as she cleared her throat. Pointing at the blood on the ground she began to follow the tune  _ Obaa-sama  _ had taught her. 

**_"Watashi no mawari no chi wa watashi no tenohira ni kite, watashi no te no chīsana kyū ni narimasu."_ **

Slowly but surely, the blood on the rose into the air in small drops and drifted to collect in her palm. There it condensed into a ball-like shape. The process continued until all the blood on the ground was gone and was instead a solid sphere in her hand. Satisfied at seeing no sign of the bloodshed anywhere Seina slipped it into her coat pocket.

_ Obaa-sama  _ had taught her this piece of Work years ago, when she had injured herself in the training room in the basement. Originally, she had developed it to remove stains, but had later adapted it to blood. Why she had done so, Seina had no idea. Frankly, she didn't want to know. Still, it was a useful piece of Work.

With that done, Seina pulled out her phone and tried to distract herself by counting to 100 in Japanese. It worked more or less. Time passed and by the time she reached 500 at least 15 minutes had passed. It was also annoying as hell, and she was just about to dial him again when the headlights of the car hit the alley where she was.

Startled, Seina pulled out her knife and began prepared to run away before she caught sight of the dented bumper. It was just Eric. Relieved she put the knife away and stood. They need to get out of here.

The driver's door opened to reveal a rather harassed looking Eric wearing his waiter's outfit. Seeing her longtime friend walking towards her, Seina was relieved. Any longer and she would have had to dial her mother to send somebody to pick her up. At least now she no longer had to worry about the inquisition that would no doubt occur after doing so.

"I got here as fast as I could!" Eric panted as he reached them, "Traffic was a bitch and-wow. What the hell happened?!"

"Talk later." Seina said quickly, "Right now I need you to help drag this kid onto your truck so I can take him to  _ Obaa-sama's  _ store."

Not skipping a beat, Eric stooped down and began helping lift the boy up. Thankfully the boy was light and it didn't take much effort slinging his arm across Eric's shoulders. With that done Seina hurried to open the backseat door. It was a little difficult but they eventually managed to get the boy inside.

"So how exactly did you end up at a crime scene this late at night?" Eric asked conversationally as he started the car and vegan driving away the alley. It was too casual sounding, and she would have commented on it if she couldn't feel the anxiety radiating off of him. For the past two weeks he had been on edge every time they searched the city. Actually finding the anomaly had probably brought him on the verge of a heart attack.

Seina buckled her seat belt and replied, "Ran into a serial killer," trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. After everything she had gone through tonight she needed the levity. Tomorrow would bring a world of headaches. Eric didn't appreciate it though.

"Whar the fuck?!" Eric demanded as he turned a right onto the next street, clear trying to keep himself from a full blown panic attack. 

Drained and exhausted, Seina quickly explained everything that had happened tonight.

"Shit," Eric remarked as he stopped at the red light, looking a little more composed, "and you took care of him? The serial killer, I mean?"

Seina felt a little insulted at his incredulous tone. "Hey, you remember I'm trained in combat, right?"

"Well, yes," Eric said, sounding a bit sheepish, "but it sounds like everything happened out of the blue." 

Seina conceded and nodded. "Yeah, I definitely got lucky. I mean I could have handled him but it might have attracted attention. In any case though it really wasn't much effort since the kid took care of most of it."

"What?" Eric asked as the light turned green, his face returning to a more anxious and decidedly confused look. 

Seina rested her head against the window. "I don't know exactly how it happened, but the kid managed to convince him to leave him alone." 

"And by convince you mean…," Eric trailed off, but Seina was sure that Eric knew what she was talking about.

"Compulsion," Seina clarified

"So this happened after the kid got stabbed?" It was clear Eric was having trouble processing everything, "Why didn't he do it before?" 

Seina nearly shrugged, but stopped. Why hadn't the kid tried to compel the guy away before he stabbed? The kid had to be pretty powerful if he could compel that creep away as far as he did with such vague instructions since doing so tended to obstruct the effects of a compulsion. Someone like that should have been able to handle a creep. Maybe the kid had been too afraid? Maybe that was it?

"I'm not sure," Seina admitted, running through the memories in her head, trying to make sense of everything.

Eric grunted and shook his head. “Well, maybe he’ll tell us when he wakes up. Do you think he’s okay?” 

“I hope he is,” Seina sighed. With that, the conversation lapsed into silence. 

Leaning into her seat, Seina briefly glanced at Eric. Sometimes she wondered what she did to deserve a friend like him. After all, how many people would willingly drag themselves out of work to give a friend a lift from a crime scene? Not a lot.

The two sat in silence as they crossed the stretch of the city. Everything was quiet. Nobody would expect anything out of the ordinary. Certainly not running into a murderer. 

Soon enough the Silver Bloom came into sight. 

"Does your grandmother know about this?" Eric asked as he turned off the engine.

_ "Shit, I knew I forgot about something."  _ Seina shrugged uneasily. Better to just roll with it. "Nope, but she's the one who sent us out on this wild goose chase. Besides an injured witch should fit the bill."

Eric chuckled and nervously tapped his finger one the steering wheel. Even after 8 years of _Obaa-sama,_ she still terrified Eric. Then again, _Obaa-sama_ was a pretty terrifying and formidable figure.

"Don't be such a wuss," Seina complained as she opened the door leading up to the apartment. 

"Oh yeah. Like she doesn't scare you?" Eric grunted as he lifted the boy up bridal style 

Seina didn't dignify that with a response, and simply began climbing the stairs.

Climbing up the stairs with a 100-something pound boy was probably hard, but Eric managed it well enough. It only took a few minutes and he may have accidentally bumped the boy against the wall if the sounds were any indication. Nonetheless, he got him up the stairs only slightly winded. Sometimes it was easy to forget Eric worked out pretty often.

Opening the door, Seina winced as she saw  _ Obaa-sama _ . She was sitting in the kitchen reading over the store books. She turned as face them, her face inscrutable. She sighed and looked at her and Eric and stood up 

"I take it you found something,"  _ Obaa-sama  _ said dryly. How was it that she had such an impressive poker face? Nowhere could Seina see a hint of surprise or shock or any other emotion a normal grandmother would show at seeing her granddaughter and best friend dragging an unconscious boy. It was no wonder the neighborhood circle had banned her from their weekly poker parties. She probably cleaned them out.

"It's a long story," Seina sighed.  _ Obaa-sama  _ simply raised her eyebrow. "The kid nearly got killed by a fucking serial killer. Bastard stabbed him and would have finished the job but the kid compelled him away."

_ Obaa-sama  _ eyebrow's rose another inch but said nothing. Instead she cleared the table quickly and motioned Eric to place the boy on the table. Not missing the cue, Eric laid down the boy gently and quickly retreated, leaving room for  _ Obaa-sama  _ to approach. With her usual poise and grace, she stripped off the boys shirt, to reveal muscle and skin stretched over slightly visible ribs, showing how little the boy must eat. Wasting no time, she placed her hand on the boy's chest and linked with the boy, the pupil and iris of her eyes disappearing

"It's always creepy when she does that," muttered Eric, though his tone was one of awe.

Seina silently agreed, though she had seen. For generations the Matsubara family had worked as apothecaries, brewing and mixing countless remedies for a myriad of injuries and afflictions for centuries, passing on their recipes and Work from mother to daughter. They had never been formal healers, but each and every woman of the family since the founder of their line had learned how to perform a piece of diagnostic Work so they could better treat their patients. 

_ "One needs to know which remedy is needed,"  _ Obaa-sama had said when she had declared that she saw no point in the Work during training.

The process took only a couple minutes, and by the time she was done  _ Obaa-sama  _ simply nodded and turned towards. "You did an adequate job." she said simply, her eyes showing the slightest glint of approval, "The wound will scar, but no injury persists in his body." 

To anybody else it would have sounded like a backhanded compliment, but Seina knew her  _ Obaa-sama  _ gave no light praise. Had her Work been subpar, it would have been a glare and practice for three days with no rest.

Seina nodded. "Now, explain to me what happened."  _ Obaa-sama  _ ordered, her voice sharper than the cleaver she used for heavy cuts of meat.

Not wanting to waste any time Seina quickly explained everything that had happened, her grandmother's eyes narrowing with every word. Whatever approval her healing may have garnered her explanation wiped it away like writing in the sand of a beach. It was clear she would be spending the next week reeking of herbs. 

As soon as she was finished  _ Obaa-sama  _ cursed rapidly. “Damn it girl! Are you sure no one saw you?” she demanded, rage and worry interwoven so finely it was hard to tell which was which.

Seina nodded, glancing at the floor. She knew  _ Obaa-sama  _ would react like this. Everything had happened too quickly and she had so little time to think about what to do. It was sloppy and dangerous of her. So much could have gone wrong, and still could, but what else could she do?

"And you, boy?"  _ Obaa-sama  _ snapped at Eric, making him jump, "Did you make sure my foolish granddaughter cleaned all the blood from the alley?"

Eric stammered. "I didn't see any blood Mrs. Matsubara."

_ Obaa-sama  _ huffed in disgust before a weary look settled on her. Raising her hand she rubbed her for and glanced at the ceiling. "Goddess help us. Let us escape from this unharmed."

Seina looked at her grandmother, stunned. She had never before heard  _ Obaa-sama  _ pray to the Goddess openly. In fact, she never prayed anywhere except her room. Clearly things were bad if she was choosing now to do so.

Shaking her heard Obaa-sama pinned both of them with hard eyes. "We do nothing." she ordered, "With luck, the man will confess and the police will look no further. The other bodies and knife should suffice for evidence and they will leave it at that." 

Seina doubted everything would be as clear cut as that. A serial killer was prime news fodder and would be on TV for weeks at least. What if the police decided to look deeper. Or what if somebody stopped the man on the street? Or what if somebody had seen her? What if-."

"Enough girl,"  _ Obaa-sama  _ snapped, scowling at her, "there is nothing else to do but wait and see how things play out. What's done is done and there is no use in further worrying about the fact."

"But what if the compulsion wears off and the man escapes?!" Seina blurted out, the anxiety that had been building since leaving the man spilling out, "I mean I am pretty sure the compulsion holds, but what if it doesn't and the man escapes! What then?!" 

Beside her she saw Eric pale and becoming a little scared, making her wince. She should probably not voice her concerns so loudly. Or candidly. But the thought was scary. What if that murdering bastard got away because she didn't stop him and he killed again. She couldn't live with that. Seina blinked as she felt the tears pricking her 

_ Obaa-sama's  _ face softened for a fraction before hardening once more. She stepped forward and grasped both of her shoulders firmly. Seina shook her head and met her grandmother's gaze. No judgement sat there.

"Girl, listen to me."  _ Obaa-sama  _ said firmly, her gaze intense. "You did the best that you could under such circumstances. The life of one of our kin was in possible danger and you could not deal with the man with compromising yourself further. You made the best choice you could." 

"The wound wasn't lethal," Seina muttered hoarsely, "I could have figured something out.”

"But you did not know,"  _ Obaa-sama  _ insisted fiercely, "the boy could have died had the wound been serious. You made the best choice you could with the information you had. Besides, your methods should hold. The man was confused enough that he could not resist, and if anybody should find him they will call the police and they will deal with it." 

"But what if you're wrong?" Seina whispered softly.

Instead of reprimanding her or insisting otherwise, her grandmother simply leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "Then the man will be dealt with," Obaa-sama said with deadly softness, "Whatever may come the man will see justice. Be it by the court's hands, or that of our kind."

A reply like that would have scared anybody else. Hell, a few years ago it would have scared her. After the last couple years though, it simply gave her grim hope.  _ Obaa-sama  _ never made idle promises.

"Ah, guys," Eric said awkwardly, breaking the moment between them, "not to break off the scary and intense promise of vigilante justice, but the boy is waking up."

Turning around they saw the boy stirring and letting out pained groans. 

_ "Goddess help us," _ Seina thought as she saw the boy open his eyes.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Translation -The blood around me comes in the palm of my hand and becomes a hard sphere in my hand.


End file.
